UC-NRLF 


OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 


A    STUDY   OF   ORIGINS; 

OR, 

THE    PROBLEMS     OF    KNOWLEDGE, 
OF  BEING,   AND   OF  DUTY. 


BY 


E.    DE/PRESSENS6,   D.D. 

AUTHOR   OF 

'JESUS  CHRIST:  HIS  TIMES,  LIFE,  AND  WORK,"  "THE  EARLY  YEARS 
OF  CHRISTIANITY,"  ETC. 


SECOND  EDITION. 


Jforh : 

JAMES    POTT    &    CO., 
12    ASTOR  PLACE. 

1884. 


PREFACE. 


IT  is  due  to  my  readers  that  I  should  explain  how  I 
was  led  to  enter  on  the  discussion  of  the  philosophical 
and  scientific  questions  of  the  day.  At  the  time  when 
I  was  preparing  the  revision  of  my  History  of  the  first 
three  Centuries  of  the  Church,  I  was  struck,  more  than 
I  had  ever  been  before,  with  the  increasing  vehemence 
of  the  attacks  made,  not  only  on  Christian  theism,  but 
on  the  very  foundations  of  spiritual  religion.  If  we  are 
to  believe  the  men  who  come  forward  as  the  recognised 
organs  of  the  scientific  world,  we  must  conclude  that  all 
that  has  been  affirmed  by  the  disciples  of  the  Gospel 
and  the  philosophers  who  believe  in  a  God,  in  the  soul, 
in  a  future  life,  in  the  morality  of  duty,  is  but  an  empty 
dream.  Our  aspirations  after  a  higher  world  are,  to  use 
the  figure  of  one  of  this  school,  but  as  dead  leaves 
whirled  aloft  into  the  air,  which  fall  back  upon  the 
hand  that  flung  them.  Everything  is  to  be  reduced  to 
energy,  ever  transmuted  yet  ever  the  same.  That  which 
we  take  to  be  thought  and  consciousness  is  nothing 
more  than  a  combination  of  associated  sensations.  Al- 
though these  oracular  assertions  did  not  for  one  moment 

b 


vi  PREFACE. 

shake  my  own  conviction  of  the  reality  of  the  moral 
and  divine  absolute,  because  that  conviction  is  based, 
not  only  upon  my  own  experience,  but  upon  a  supreme 
and  indisputable  necessity  of  thought,  I  yet  felt  desirous 
to  gauge  the  true  position  of  things  and  of  minds  in 
relation  to  things.  It  became  evident  to  me  that  the 
victory  so  loudly  vaunted  in  the  camps  of  materialism 
was  really  more  disputed  than  ever,  and  that  we  were  in 
the  thick  of  the  fight.  Those  who  assert  that  science 
has  pronounced  a  final  verdict  on  the  world  of  mind  and 
of  conscience,  interpret  facts  by  their  own  wishes.  They 
expect  from  science  that  which,  with  all  its  brilliant 
discoveries,  it  cannot  give ;  for  its  domain  is  strictly 
limited  by  the  conditions  of  existence,  and  it  is  not  com- 
petent to  affirm  anything  on  questions  of  origin  and  of 
first  principle.  Its  proper  task  is  a  sufficiently  glorious 
one.  To  assert,  as  Haeckel  does,  that  the  first  cause  is 
now  understood,  that  the  system  which  he  calls  monism 
because  it  recognises  only  one  principle  of  things — pure 
force — is  now  established  on  evidence  which  places  it 
beyond  dispute,  and  that  the  time  is  come  to  teach  it 
to  children  in  the  form  of  a  catechism,  is  to  dogmatise 
instead  of  demonstrating.  However  eminent  the  services 
rendered  to  science  by  this  great  physiologist,  this  mode 
of  promulgating  his  theories  would  be  only  the  sub- 
stitution of  an  authoritative  irreligion  for  the  religion  of 
authority,  and  the  promotion  of  a  materialistic  fanati- 
cism at  least  as  extravagant  as  any  fanaticism  of  the 
theists. 

Nightly  in  our  great  cities,  we  may  hear  the  Boan- 


PREFACE.  vii 

ergcs  of  atheism  thundering  this  credo  into  the  ears  of  a 
listening  crowd  as  ignorant  as  their  supposed  teachers. 
It  behoves  us  then  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that 
independent  science  protests  no  less  distinctly  than 
spiritualistic  and  Christian  philosophy,  not  merely 
against  these  vulgar  saturnalia,  but  against  the  pre- 
mature triumph  which  materialism  claims  for  itself  in  its 
popular  manuals  of  science  written  with  much  fluency 
and  skill,  and  in  high-sounding  newspaper  articles.  It 
is  admitted  by  all  serious  thinkers  that  matter  is  that 
which  is  least  understood,  because  we  can  never  reach 
it  directly,  but  only  through  our  sensations,  which 
modify  it.  It  follows  that  those  who  assert  that  in 
confining  themselves  to  the  material  they  are  on  safe 
and  solid  ground,  really  have  their  feet  upon  a  cloud.  It 
must  be  understood  that  independent  science,  even  that 
which  stands  apart  from  all  philosophical  and  religious 
schools,  repudiates  the  claim  of  materialistic  transform- 
ism  'to  assign  the  origin  of  life  and  of  mind  to  pure 
force ;  and  that  in  reference  to  this  question  of  origins 
it  adopts  Dubois-Reymond's  famous  motto — Ignoremus. 
A  few  months  ago,  at  the  Anthropological  Congress 
held  in  Frankfort,  the  illustrious  Virchow,  while  admit- 
ting the  eminent  services  rendered  by  Darwin  to  the 
study  of  biology,  contrasted  the  severe  methods  of  ex- 
perimental science  with  the  superficial  and  even  foolish 
manner  (we  quote  his  own  words)  in  which  first  prin- 
ciples are  treated  to-day  by  the  advocates  of  material- 
istic transformism,  who  "  find  it  easier  to  write  pages 
of  a  manifesto  teeming  with  hypotheses,  than  to  study 


viii  PREFACE. 

a  cranium."  While  independent  science  has  thus  spoken 
out  both  in  Germany  and  France,  philosophy  has  not 
stood  aside  from  the  combat.  It  has  done  its  part 
bravely  in  France ;  not  a  single  attack  has  been  made 
upon  the  bases  of  theism  which  has  not  been  ably  met. 
Books  like  M.  Janet's  "Causes  Finales"  and  M.  Caro's 
brilliant  essays  upon  the  same  themes,  show  how  deeply 
our  philosophers  have  gone  into  the  great  scientific 
problems  of  the  day. 

It  is  this  conflict  between  the  thinkers  of  our  age 
which  I  have  tried  to  bring  before  my  readers  in  the 
present  work.  I  have  been  encouraged  in  my  attempt 
by  seeing  the  same  thing  done  from  an  opposite 
stand-point  by  authors  having  no  greater  professional 
competence  than  my  own.  My  sole  aim  is  to  give  a 
faithful  account  of  this  battle  of  the  advanced  guard  in 
which  the  highest  interests  of  humanity  are  involved. 
I  have  endeavoured  to  be  at  once  impartial  and  clear  in 
stating  the  views  held  by  those  from  whom  I  differ.  I 
have  been  careful  to  avoid  personalities  in  discussing 
opinions.  I  have  always  borne  in  mind  that  a  man  is 
often  much  better  than  his  theories.  There  are  atheists 
who  would  make  one  believe  in  God  by  the  nobleness  of 
their  character  and  their  life.  Unhappily  there  are  also 
professed  believers  who  would  make  one  doubt  of  Him 
by  their  intolerant  and  unfruitful  lives.  For  the  materials 
of  my  argument  I  have  only  had  to  draw  from  the  able 
and  extensive  writings  of  the  most  eminent  representa- 
tives of  independent  science  and  contemporary  philos- 
ophy I  have  endeavoured  to  show  how  decisive  and 


PREFACE.  ix 

complete  their  reply  is  on  all  the  great  questions  under 
discussion  in  our  time,  whether  in  reference  to  the 
problem  of  knowledge,  of  being,  of  man,  or  of  the 
origin  of  morality  and  religion. 

This  spiritualistic  reply  is  not  of  modern  origin  any 
more  than  are  the  negations  of  atheism.  On  some  es- 
sential points  it  is  the  same  as  in  the  days  of  Aristotle, 
who  was  perhaps  the  greatest  metaphysician  the  world 
has  ever  seen,  and  whose  vindication  of  the  final  and 
formal  cause  has  never  been  surpassed.  His  theory 
of  potential  being  carrying  us  back  to  the  eternally 
actual  and  living  Spirit,  is  as  fresh  to-day  as  are  the 
immortal  pages  of  Plato  on  moral  certainty.  The  de- 
monstration of  the  principle  of  causation  by  Descartes, 
so  largely  expanded  by  the  French  critical  school  of 
pur  day,  survives  intact  all  the  polemics  of  the  new 
psychology,  English  and  German.  There  was  a  ne- 
cessity, nevertheless,  as  I  hold,  that  the  too  exclusively 
intellectual  element  in  Cartesianism  should  be  corrected 
by  giving  larger  scope  to  what  Kant  calls  the  practical 
reason,  which  is  identified  with  the  moral  consciousness. 

I  freely  avow  myself  a  disciple  of  that  great  critical 
school  which  has  renovated  our  mode  of  thought.  I  am 
persuaded  that,  in  spite  of  the  charge  of  scepticism 
brought  against  it,  it  supplies  the  best  element  of  cer- 
tainty, an  element  no  less  solid  than  duty  itself,  enforced 
at  once  as  a  matter  of  evidence  and  of  obligation.  The 
school  of  Kant  has  moreover  been  supplemented  by 
the  comprehensive  psychology  of  Maine  de  Biran,  trans- 
mitted to  us  by  Ernest  Naville,  after  Cousin.  This  is 


x  PREFACE. 

exerting  a  growing  influence  upon  the  French  school, 
to  which  it  has  given  a  wholesome  impulse.  M.  Charles 
Secretan,  to  whom  I  have  inscribed  this  work  because  I 
owe  to  him  my  initiation  into  the  study  of  the  higher 
philosophy,  is  a  brilliant  and  independent  representa- 
tive of  the  same  school.  It  was  my  privilege  to  attend 
the  lectures  at  Lausanne,  in  which  he  first  expounded 
that  philosophy  of  liberty  which  he  has  since  expanded 
into  his  great  book.  This  work  will  show  how  much  I 
am  indebted  to  him,  as  to  so  many  of  our  great  French 
philosophers,  whether  of  the  broad  Cartesian  school 
which  has  so  long  prevailed  in  France,  or  to  the  some- 
what mystical  school  of  M.  Ravaisson,  or  to  the  bold 
critical  school  of  M.  -Renouvier.  I  have  tried  faithfully 
to  acknowledge  in  the  text  my  obligations  to  all  these 
writers.  I  do  not  single  out  any  here,  lest  I  should 
make  invidious  distinctions.  If  I  were  to  make  one 
exception,  it  would  be  in  the  case  of  Claude  Bernard, 
the  grandest  representative  of  truly  independent  science, 
who  has  formulated  in  a  masterly  way  that  experimental 
method,  the  conscientious  employment  of  which  suffices 
to  refute  dogmatic  assertions  that  are  unsustained  by 
facts. 

I  have  appealed  only  to  the  authentic  exponents  of 
science  for  a  solution  of  the  problem  of  origins.  I  admit 
and  would  fully  vindicate  the  complete  independence 
of  science.  I  maintain  that  it  cannot  recognise  any 
authority  whatever  which  would  fetter  it  in  its  course  of 
free  inquiry.  Neither  the  Bible  nor  the  Councils  have 
any  prescriptive  right  to  control  science  ;  but  on  the  other 


PREFACE.  xi 

hand  it  is  equally  bound  not  to  receive  the  arbitrary  com- 
mands of  any  of  the  exponents  of  vaunted  free-thought. 
To  think  freely,  is  to  lay  aside  all  prejudice  and  tc 
accept  simply  the  results  of  experience.  I  am  increas- 
ingly convinced  that  experimental  science  is  in  no  way 
hostile  to  the  principles  of  theism.  It  is  not  the  pro- 
vince of  science  to  demonstrate  those  principles  ;  all  that 
can  be  fairly  asked  of  it,  is  to  recognise  their  possibility. 
When  once  this  possibility  of  a  divine  and  moral  world 
is  granted,  other  processes  of  experiment,  adapted  to  the 
nature  of  the  subject,  supply  its  demonstration  ;  the  way 
is  open.  This  is  the  conclusion  to  which  I  would  bring 
my  readers.  Once  thoroughly  established,  this  con- 
clusion suffices  to  secure  to  humanity  its  most  precious 
possession — that  higher  life,  apart  from  which  man  misses 
all  that  distinguishes  him  from  the  brute,  and  is  without 
any  light  beyond  the  grave,  without  any  compass  on  his 
voyage  through  life,  without  morality,  without  law,  with- 
out liberty,  given  up  to  the  chances  of  brute  force,  a 
hopeless  and  degraded  thing.  I  refuse  to  accept  such  a 
horoscope  for  humanity.  If  indeed  the  first  and  final  term 
of  the  world's  history  were  force,  I  should  be  a  pessimist 
of  the  sombrest  dye,  both  as  regards  society  and  the 
individual.  An  atheistic  and  materialistic  democracy 
seems  to  me  a  very  hell  upon  earth.  I  should  regard 
public  liberty  as  a  mere  mockery,  if  I  believed  that 
man  is  inwardly  a  slave,  hopelessly  entangled  in  the 
universal  mechanism.  Liberty  built  up  on  such  a 
foundation  would  be  but  a  delusion  and  would  quickly 
end  in  the  most  abject  despotism — whether  democratic 


xii  PREFACE. 

or  aristocratic,  would  be  of  little  moment.  I  am  well 
assured  that  bad  principles  produce  bad  actions  and 
bad  institutions ;  because  I  have  too  high  an  idea  even 
of  misguided  man  not  to  believe  that  he  is  really  as  he 
thinks.  A  nation  cannot  be  taught  with  impunity  that 
the  moral  law  is  a  mere  fiction,  that  duty  is  but  interest 
disguised,  and  that,  apart  from  sensation,  there  is  no- 
thing. I  am  altogether  lacking  in  the  breadth  of  mind 
which  regards  these  theories  as  indifferent  or  simply 
curious  ;  to  me  they  are  deadly  and  degrading.  If  they 
were  true,  we  must  needs  "acquiesce  in  them;  but  life 
would  then  be  nothing  better  than  a  miserable  farce. 
Happily  they  are  not  true ;  they  are  gratuitous  hypo- 
theses which  bewilder  us  only  by  their  noisy  repetition. 
They  are  contradicted  by  the  most  indisputable  results 
of  science  and  philosophy,  not  to  speak  of  the  rock  of 
conscience  on  which  they  must  ever  split. 

This  is  what  I  have  tried  to  show,  taking  as  my 
authorities  the  greatest  minds  of  our  age.  I  am  one 
of  those  who  believe  in  liberty  as  the  surest  safeguard 
of  the  truth.  To  attempt  to  defend  religion  and  con- 
science by  any  other  means  than  free  discussion,  is  to 
belie  them.  The  insidious  doctrine  of  "liberty  for  the 
good  alone  "  seems  to  me  essentially  evil ;  for  the  good 
must  be  in  doubt  of  itself  when  it  wishes  to  gag  the  lips 
even  of  error.  Through  my  whole  public  career  I  have 
steadily  advocated  the  complete  enfranchisement  of  con- 
science, and  for  this  I  shall  ever  plead.  I  desire  to  see 
this  freedom  carried  to  its  furthest  issues.  It  is  my  one 
aim  to  dedicate  all  the  remaining  energies  of  my  life 


PREFACE.  xiii 

to  the  vindication  of  the  highest  truths  of  morality, 
apart  from  which  I  foresee  nothing  but  ruin  and  dis- 
honour for  my  country  and  irremediable  loss  to  that 
soul  of  man  which  is  to  live  on  when  all  public  insti- 
tutions shall  have  passed  away  like  a  tent  set  up  for 
a  day.  I  shall  be  truly  happy  if  this  book,  written 
in  all  good  faith,  may,  in  spite  of  its  imperfections, 
do  something  to  dispel  the  fatal  misconception  that 
science  and  conscience,  liberty  and  religion,  are  incom- 
patible. Such  an  error  may  well  be  fatal  to  the  life  of 
a  country  and  of  a  people. 

E.  DE  PRESSENSE. 

October,  1882. 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE. 


THE  Translator  wishes  to  express  her  great  obligations 
to  Donald  MacAlister,  Esq.,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  St.  John's 
College,  Cambridge,  for  his  kindness  in  revising  the 
proof  sheets  of  the  English  Edition. 

CAMBRIDGE. 

December,  1882. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 

BOOK    FIRST. 
THE    PROBLEM    OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

CHAPTER  I. 
KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM pp.  3-30 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY 
IN  ENGLAND,  FRANCE,  AND  GERMANY. 

I.  English  Psychology. 

I.  Stuart  Mill.         2.  Herbert  Spencer. 
II.  French  Psychology. 

M.  Taine's  Theory  of  Intelligence. 
III.    The  New  German  Psychology. 

Materialistic  and  Sceptical  Theories  of  Knowledge        .     pp.  31-75 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  THE  CRITICAL  SCHOOL 
IN  GERMANY  AND  FRANCE. — HARMONY  OF  CARTESIANISM 
AND  KANTISM  SUGGESTED  BY  MAINE  DE  BIRAN. 

I.   Descartes  and  Kant. 
II.   Maine  de  Biran. 
III.   French  Criticism pp.  76-102 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  TRUE  SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

I.  Genesis  and  Development  of  Knowledge. 
II.  Share  of  the  Will  in    Knowledge. —The  Conditions  of 

Certainty pp.  103-128 


xviii  TABLE    OF  CONTENTS. 

BOOK   SECOND. 
THE   PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

CHAPTER    I. 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  COSMOS. 

Principle  of  Causation  in  the  World. 

I.   The  Reign  of  Law  in  Nature. 
II.  The  Formative  Power  in  the  various  Kingdoms  of 

Nature pp.  131-159 

CHAPTER   II. 

OLDER  OBJECTIONS  TO  THE  THEORY  OF  CAUSATION. 

I.   Atomism. 
II.   Organicism    .        ,         .         .         .         .         ..          pp.  160-170 

CHAPTER  III. 

LATER   OBJECTIONS   FOUNDED  ON  THE   CONSERVATION  AND 

TRANSFORMATION  OF  ENERGY      ....         pp.  171-179 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION. — TRANSFORMISM,  ETC. 

I.  The  Doctrine  of  Evolution. 
II.   The  Monistic  Theory  of  Transformation. 

III.  Hegel's  Theory  of  Immanence. 

IV.  Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann. — Renan  and  Jules  Soury 

pp.  180-238 


BOOK    THIRD. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING  (continued}. 
MAN. 

CHAPTER   I. 
MAN  IN  His  TWOFOLD  NATURE. 

I.   Man,  Physiologically  Considered. 
II.   Man,  Intellectually  and  Morally  Considered    .         .          pp.  241-255 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  xix 

CHAPTER    II. 
THE  RELATIONS  OF  THE  PHYSICAL  AND  THE  MORAL. 

I.  The  Brain  and  Thought. 
II.  Objections  Drawn  from  the  Idea  of  Motion     .        .          pp.  256-281 

CHAPTER  III. 
MAN  AND  THE  BRUTES. 

I.  Position  of  the  Question. 
II.  Instinct  and  Intelligence          •         •        .         •         •          pp.  282-306 

CHAPTER  IV. 
LANGUAGE  :  ITS  ORIGIN  AND  INFLUENCE  ON  KNOWLEDGE,  pp.  307-322 

CHAPTER  V. 
HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES. 

I.  Specific  Character  of  Human  Society. — Social  Contract. 
II.   Refutation    of   the    Sociology  of   Positivism    and    of    the 
Recent   German    and    English   Psychology.  —  Auguste 
Comte,  Littre,  Buckle,  Bagehot,  Jiiger,  Herbert  Spencer. 
III.   Animal  Colonies  and  Societies. — Perrier  and  Espinas  .     pp.  323-361 


BOOK    FOURTH. 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

CHAPTER  I. 
PRINCIPLE  AND  ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY. 

I.  The  Morality  of  Pleasure  and  of  Self-interest. 

II.  Refutation  of  the  Morality  of  Self-interest. 

III.  Determinism  and  Free- Will. 

IV.  Independent  Morality. 

V.  Moral  Sanctions pp.  365-419 

CHAPTER   II. 
THE  IDEAL. — ART. 

The  Sense  of  the  Ideal. 
II.  The  Sense  of  the  Beautiful.— Art,  its  Threefold  Purpose 

pp.  420-436 


xx  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  III. 
RELIGION,  ITS  NATURE  AND  ORIGIN. 

I.  The  Nature  of  Religion. 

II.  Various  Explanations  of  the  Origin  of  Religion      •  pp.  437-4665 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN. 
I.  Savage  Nations. 

II.  The  Man  of  the  Caves  and  Lake-Dwellings     .         .          pp.  467-51 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


BOOK   FIRST. 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

KNOWLEDGE   AND    POSITIVISM. 

The  Positivist  School  repudiates  all  inquiry  into  origins.  Task  assigned 
by  it  to  science — the  verification  of  facts  ascertained  by  experience  and 
their  relations,  setting  aside  all  explanation  of  them.  The  positive  state 
of  the  human  mind  has  superseded  the  two  previous  states — the  religious 
and  the  metaphysical.  The  study  of  the  ego  entirely  subordinate  to  that 
of  the  external  world.  Psychology  subsidiary  to  physiology. 

Reply.  —  1st.  Inquiry  into  causes  a  universal  tendency  ;  a.  constant 
human  fact,  therefore  a  positive  fact. 

2nd.  The  permanent  coexistence  of  the  three  religious  states — the  re- 
ligious, the  metaphysical,  and  the  positive — demonstrated  by  history. 

3rd.  These  three  states  are  three  aspects  of  things,  all  equally  necessary 
fcn  embracing  things  in  their  totality.  Religion  an  effort  of  the  soul  to 
come  to  God.  Metaphysics  occupied  primarily  with  the  investigation  ot 
causes.  Natural  science  deals  with  positive  facts.  It  is  supreme  in  its 
own  domain.  The  progress  of  true  science  consists,  not  in  suppressing 
any  one  of  these  elements,  but  in  making  all  concur  to  one  common  end — 
by  a  harmonious  division  of  labour. 

4th.  Positive  science  cannot  dispense  with  the  co-operation  of  the  sub- 
jective ;  for,  apart  from  reason,  it  could  not  formulate  a  single  law,  or 
draw  the  smallest  deduction.  Sensation  can  give  nothing  beyond  itself, 
and  is  limited  to  the  actual.  The  large  part  taken  by  hypothesis  in  science 
the  proof  of  this  co-operation  of  mind. 

5th.  Positivism  has  failed,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  to  adhere  to  the  rigour  of 
its  principle,  which  precludes  "any  explanation  of  things,  the  materialistic 
no  less  than  the  spiritualistic.  On  the  one  hand,  in  Auguste  Comte  and 
J.  Stuart  Mill  it  has  risen  above  its  proper  sphere,  allowing  scope  to  the 


xxii  ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

humanitarian  or  religious  sentiment.  On  the  other  hand,  in  M.  Littre  it  has 
exhibited  a  steadily  growing  tendency  to  endorse  the  materialistic  solution 
of  the  question  of  origins  .......  pp.  3-30. 

CHAPTER   II. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY  IN 
ENGLAND,  FRANCE,  AND  GERMANY. 

After  the  school  which  proscribes  any  inquiry  into  causes,  comes  that 
which  seeks  to  explain  away  the  principle  of  causation  into  the  association 
or  combination  of  sensations,  since  it  recognises  no  a  priori  in  the  human 
mirid. 

I.  The  new  English  Psychology. — Its  fundamental  paradox — that  having 
affirmed  that  there  is  a  domain  of  the  Unknowable,  it  proceeds  to  give  an 
exhaustive  explanation  of  all  things. 

i.  Stuart  Mill. — Stuart  Mill  anticipated  by  David  Hume,  who  accounts 
for  the  principle  of  causation  by  the  constant  succession  of  phenomena  veri- 
fied by  experience. 

Laws  of  associationism  formulated  by  Stuart  Mill.  1st.  Similar  phe- 
nomena tend  to  be  thought  of  together.  2nd.  Phenomena  which  have 
either  been  experienced  or  conceived  in  contiguity  tend  to  be  thought  of 
together.  The  contiguity  is  of  two  kinds. :  simultaneity  and  immediate  suc- 
cession. 3rd.  Associations  produced  by  contiguity  become  more  certain 
and  rapid  by  repetition.  From  this  so-called  inseparable  association  arises 
the  idea  of  causation  ;  the  one  appears  to  us  to  produce  the  other.  Pos- 
sible sensations  form  a  sort  of  permanent  reservoir  for  the  mind,  outside 
of  ourselves ;  and  this  gives  us  the  idea  of  the  external  world  and  of  sub- 
stance. The  idea  of  the  ego  results  from  the  contrast  between  present  sen- 
sation and  the  sum  of  possible  sensations  outside  of  ourselves. 

Reply. — ist.  It  is  an  impossibility  for  sensation,  which  is  transient  and 
evanescent,  to  formulate  laws  and  to  construct  a  theory  of  knowledge.  2nd. 
Sensation  by  itself  never  gives  us  the  possible,  which  is  beyond  its  grasp, 
but  only  the  actual.  3rd.  The  fact  of  succession  does  not  give  the  idea  of 
cause,  which  is  something  altogether  different,  since  it  is  possible  for  two 
phenomena  to  follow  each  other  invariably,  and  yet  for  the  one  not  to  be 
produced  by  the  other.  4th.  The  association  of  sensations  never  produces 
by  itself  co-ordinated  ideas,  as  is  shown  by  the  incoherency  of  dreams. 
5th.  The  ego  cannot  be  the  mere  result  of  association  ;  the  co-operation 
of  mind  is  indispensable  to  produce  an  association  of  ideas ;  a  sum  does 
not  add  itself  up.  The  fact  of  consciousness  is  implied  in  the  distinction 
between  the  subject  and  the  object.  Stuart  Mill  himself  recognises  in  the 
fact  of  memory  a  persistence  of  the  ego  which  distinguishes  it  from  mere 
sensations. 


ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  xxiii 

2.  Herbert  Spencer. — Herbert  Spencer  supplements  Stuart  Mill,  by  his 
theory  of  evolution,  or  of  the  persistence  of  force  which  can  neither  be  aug- 
mented nor  diminished,  but  only  transformed,  and  which  is  ever  tending  to 
differentiate  itself.  The  intellectual  life  at  first  confounded  with  the  phy- 
sical, but  steadily  progressing  from  the  reflex  action  of  the  infant  to  the 
intricate  reasoning  of  the  adult.  The  accumulation  of  experiences  and 
hereditary  transmission  contribute  to  the  evolution  of  intelligence,  modify- 
ing at  once  the  brain  and  the  intellect  inseparable  from  it.  Thus  that  which 
we  take  to  be  the  a  priori  of  human  reason,  is  really  the  result  of  experience. 

Reply. — 1st.  Impossibility  of  explaining  mental  activity  by  a  mere 
external  influence.  The  mind  shows  its  activity  in  the  power  it  has  to 
combine  and  associate.  2nd.  The  idea  of  time  and  space  does  not  result 
from  our  experience  of  the  duration  or  coexistence  of  phenomena,  for  these 
two  great  ideas  could  not  be  evolved  unless  they  were  already  latent  in  the 
mind.  3rd.  Evolution  gives  no  explanation  of  progress,  it  only  brings  out 
that  which  was  contained  in  the  original  phenomenon.  One  of  two  things : 
either  the  phenomenon  originally  included  mind,  and  then  it  was  not  mere 
force  ;  or  mind  has  been  superadded,  and  in  that  case  again  force  is  not  the 
sole  explanation  of  all  things. 

II.  Psychology  of  M.  Taine. — M.  Taine's  psychology  the  same  in  sub- 
stance as  the  English  theory  of  association. 

Genesis  of  Ideas. — 1st.  Sensation.  2nd.  The  image  which  is  the  pro- 
longation of  sensation.  It  has  a  substitutive  value,  recalling  the  whole 
group  to  which  it  belongs.  3rd.  Proper  names  are  signs  representative  of 
images.  The  idea  thus  formed  by  generalisation  after  generalisation,  is  a 
pure  abstraction,  whether  it  deals  with  matter,  which  is  to  us  only  the  pos- 
sibility of  receiving  new  and  identical  sensations  under  analogous  condi- 
tions, or  with  the  ego  which  is  only  the  last  term  of  the  abstraction — a  pure 
phantom.  The  physiological  basis  of  this  idealism  is,  that  mind  and  body 
are  but  two  aspects,  the  obverse  and  the  reverse,  the  outer  and  inner  side 
of  one  and  the  same  abstraction. 

Reply.  —  1st.  The  physiological  basis  which  is  to  sustain  the  entire  edifice 
of  knowledge,  being,  in  M.  Taine's  psychology,  only  a  chimera,  a  hallucina- 
tion, the  influence  of  the  physical  upon  the  moral  is  nil.  2nd.  Impossi- 
bility of  reducing  the  ego  to  a  mere  negation  if  we  are  to  concede  to  it  the 
power  of  generalising,  combining,  abstracting.  3rd.  The  gulf  impassable 
to  the  intellect,  which  exists  between  motion  and  the  consciousness  of  motion, 
recognised  by  M.  Taine.  Their  identification  therefore  impossible. 

III.  The  New  German  Psychology.     Materialistic  and  Sceptical  Theories 
of  Knowledge. — Herbart  the  precursor  of  the  New  German  psychology.     His 
attempt  to  measure  the  phenomena  of  consciousness  by  mathematical  laws, 
so  that  our  representations  may  be  considered  as  forces,  sometimes  balancing, 
sometimes  outweighing  each  other  in  intensity.      Beneke  and  Lotze  recognise 
the  existence  of  the  soul,  of  the  active  ego,  while  attaching  great  importance 


xxiv  ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

to  the  local  signs  which  visual  and  tactile  impressions  leave  behind  them 
on  the  points  where  they  are  produced.  Complete  correlation  established 
by  Fechner  between  sensations  and  their  stimuli.  Uncertainty  of  his  cal- 
culations, because  the  measure  used  is  too  coarse  to  appraise  so  delicate  a 
phenomenon  as  sensation.  Mechanical  logic  of  Wundt.  "Unity  of  conscious- 
ness," he  says,  "results  from  the  purely  mechanical  unification  of  sensa- 
tions, from  which  in  the  end  ideas  are  deduced."  Arbitrariness  of  his 
attempt  to  measure  physiological  time.  Wundt,  like  Fechner,  recognises 
in  the  mental  life  a  mysterious  and  wholly  irreducible  power. 

Theory  of  Knowledge  founded  upon  Pure  Materialism. — Matter  is  never 
apprehended  directly,  but  only  through  sensation  that  is  already  trans- 
formed and  modified.  Conclusion  of  Lange's  History  of  Materialism  thus 
formulates  it.  Matter  is  essentially  the  Unknowable.  Scepticism  cannot 
affirm  without  denying  itself.  It  renders  science  impossible.  Spiritualistic 
affirmation  of  Stuart  Mill  and  Lange  .  •  •  .  pp.  31-75. 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  THE  CRITICAL  SCHOOL  IN 
GERMANY  AND  FRANCE. — HARMONY  OF  CARTESIANISM  AND 
KANTISM  SUGGESTED  BY  MAINE  DE  BIRAN. 

After  the  school  which  proscribes  all  inquiry  into  causes  and  that  which 
explains  away  the  principle  of  causation,  comes  the  Critical  School,  which 
distinguishes  reason  from  the  world  of  phenomena,  and  does  not  admit  that 
reason  can  ever  arrive  at  the  reality  underlying  the  phenomenal.  This  was 
a  reaction  against  the  exaggerations  of  Cartesianism.  Possibility  of  har- 
monising the  two  schools. 

I.  Descartes  and  Kant. — The  criterion  of  evidence  given  by  Descartes 
correct,  for  at  the  basis  of  all  knowledge  is  the  intuition  of  the  thing  in 
itself.  Descartes  has  given  the  true  formula  of  the  principle  of  causation, 
in  establishing  that  the  greater  cannot  come  from  the  less.  The  idea  of 
perfection  which  exists  in  the  imperfect  ego  implies  a  principle  of  perfection. 
The  error  of  Descartes,  exaggerated  by  his  school,  was  in  making  perfection 
to  consist  primarily  in  the  intellect,  as  in  his  famous  motto,  Cogito,  ergo  sum. 
Imperfection  of  the  simply  intellectual  idea  of  the  absolute.  It  does  not 
grant  to  the  absolute  the  power  of  self-limitation,  and  hence  it  involves  the 
negation  of  liberty.  Pantheism  of  Spinoza. 

Kant's  philosophy  a  reaction  against  this  metaphysical  intellectualism. 
Kant  holds  that  we  cast  all  things  by  an  inward  necessity  into  pre-existing 
moulds,  and  thus  impart  to  them  a  wholly  subjective  character,  so  that  we 
cannot  apprehend  the  thing  in  itself.  The  "  Ding  an  sich, "  or  noumenon, 
always  eludes  us  because  of  this  subjective  element  blending  with  all  our 
supposed  knowledge,  whether  of  God  or  of  ourselves.  Faultiness  of  all  the 


ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  xxv 

old  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God,  certainty  arrived  at  by  the  practical 
reason  in  the  categorical  imperative.  This  restores  to  us,  as  a  postulate, 
faith  in  an  immortal  soul  and  a  just  God. 

The  inconsistencies  of  Kant. — He  has  not  always  adhered  to  his  meta- 
physical subjectivity.  His  theory  of  the  beautiful  implies  a  real  purposive 
cause  in  nature.  Evil  being,  in  his  system,  the  abnormal  predominance  of 
the  sensible  world,  this  must  have  some  reality.  The  law  of  duty  demands 
a  real  world  for  its  realisation,  or  it  becomes  itself  chimerical.  Practical 
reason  raises  us  up  to  the  holy  God.  Hence  His  veracity,  which  saves  us 
from  universal  illusion. 

II.  Maine  de  Biran.  —  Maine  de  Biran  takes  us  beyond  the  subjectivity 
of  Kant,  by  showing  that  the  great  intuitions  of  the  reason, — such  as  the 
ideas  of  substance,  of  causation,  and  of  time, — are  confirmed  by  the  per- 
sistence of  the  ego,  which  feels  its  own  identity  through  all  its  variations, 
and  is  conscious  of  activity  and  of  successive  acts.     The  originality  of  his 
theory  is  the  idea  of  effort,  by  which  the  ego  distinguishes  itself  from  the  non- 
ego,  and  overcomes  the  resistance  of  the  body.     The  will  called  into  play  by 
this  effort  ;  in  its  higher  forms  this  action  of  the  will  becomes  first  attention 
then  reflexion.     The  will  becomes  the  chief  motor  of  the  intellectual  as  of 
the  moral  life.     Maine  de  Biran  needs  to  be  supplemented  by  Kant.     He 
assigns  too  large  a  part  to  the  experience  of  the  ego,  and  not  enough  to  the 
a  priori  of  the  reason,  which  experience  confirms  but  does  not  create. 

III.  French  Criticism. — This  goes  even  farther  than  Kant,  and  denies 
the  very  existence  of  the  noumenon.     The  French  school  of  criticism  a 
legitimate  reaction  against  metaphysical  fatalism.      Possibility  of  our  arriv- 
ing at  liberty  as  an  absolute  principle  .         .        •  pp.  76-102. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  TRUE  SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. — REVIEW 
OF  THE  PRECEDING  CHAPTERS. 

I.  Genesis  and  Development  of  Knowledge. — Sensation  only  furnishes  ideas 
by  being  prolonged  in  the  memory,  and  by  means  of  the  great  operations 
of  the  mind,  .vhich  enable  it  to  compare,  to  abstract,  and  to  generalise. 
The  co-operation  of  the  reason  is  necessary  to  formulate  laws  and  perceive 
their  connexion.  The  external  world,  then,  is  only  perceived  by  the  under- 
standing. It  is  only  known  to  us  through  the  modifying  medium  of  our 
sensations.  We  get  only  a  translation  of  it,  but  a  faithful  translation.  The 
ego,  becoming  conscious  of  itself  by  the  act  of  the  will  induced  by  the  effort 
which  leads  it  to  distinguish  itself  from  the  non-ego,  recognises  in  itself  both 
reason  and  conscience  with  their  axioms.  The  principle  of  causation,  which 
is  the  fundamental  axiom  of  the  reason,  carries  it  beyond  itself  to  the 
primary  and  perfect  Cause,  of  which  it  has  the  idea  within  itself  in  the 


xxvi  ANALYTICAL    TABLE    OF  CONTENTS. 

midst  of  its  imperfection.  "  I  am  an  imperfect  thing,  and  I  have  the  idea 
of  perfection."  The  great  Cartesian  proof  of  the  existence  of  God, 
elaborated  by  Fenelon,  Bossuet,  and  Malebranche,  retains  all  its  force  when, 
under  the  influence  of  Kant's  criticism,  it  has  once  become  permeated  with 
the  moral  idea,  and  when  the  first  principle  is  apprehended  not  as  simply 
the  unlimited  absolute,  but  as  absolute  liberty. 

II.  Share  of  the  Will  in  Knowledge.  —  The  Conditions  of  Certainty. — 1st. 
Attention  implies  an  act  of  the  will.  2nd.  Every  judgment  which  applies 
an  attribute  to  a  substance,  implies  comparison  and  choice.  3rd.  Positive 
error  always  arises  out  of  negligence,  from  the  indolence  of  the  mind  which 
stops  too  soon  in  its  inquiries.  4th.  Moral  truth  is  an  obligation  apart 
from  its  evidence.  Intuition,  which  is  the  starting-point  of  knowledge  in 
every  domain,  cannot  be  forced  as  if  it  were  the  consequence  of  a  syllogism. 
5th.  Religious  truth,  which  presents  as  its  primary  object  a  living  person, 
demands  love.  The  share  taken  by  the  will  and  by  feeling  in  relation  to 
truths  of  this  order  is  based  upon  the  fundamental  law  of  experimental 
science,  which,  according  to  Claude  Bernard,  varies  and  adapts  its  modes 
of  acquiring  knowledge  to  the  diversity  of  the  objects  to  be  known.  The 
same  law  of  certainty  formulated  by  Clement  of  Alexandria,  thus  :  Likt 
discerns  like.  6th.  Universality  of  this  law  in  its  applications,  pp.  103-1 23. 


BOOK  SECOND. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

CHAPTER  I. 
ORIGIN  OF  THE  COSMOS. 

The  Principle  of  Causation  in  the  World. — The  materialistic  school 
ignores  one  of  the  most  positive  results  of  independent  science,  namely, 
that  matter  is  that  which  we  know  least  directly,  and  which  is  therefore 
least  susceptible  of  definition. 

I.  The  Reign  of  Law  in  Nature. — The  actual  state  of  our  planet  points 
us  back  to  a  long  cosmical  evolution,  which  has  been  carried  on  in 
harmony  with  the  recognised  laws  of  physics  and  chemistry,  alike  in  the 
infinitely  great  and  the  infinitely  little.  Everything  in  the  universe  mathe- 
matically regulated ;  every  result  governed  by  weight  and  measure.  The 
general  laws  of  nature  show  a  great  purposive  cause  at  work.  Before 
evolution  begins,  there  must  be  an  impetus  given.  The  same  ordered 
thought  observable  in  the  inorganic  world,  still  more  clearly  manifested  ic 


ANALYTICAL   TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  xxvii 

the  organic.  The  former  arranged  with  a  view  to  the  latter,  and  both  in 
view  of  the  higher  order  of  mind.  The  evidence  of  design  manifest  not 
only  in  the  general  but  in  the  particular.  The  convergence  of  various 
phenomena  towards  one  ulterior  end  implies  design.  Design  manifested 
in  generation  and  in  the  development  of  life.  The  organisation  of  the 
living  being  is  a  masterpiece  of  contrivance,  revealing  a  governing  idea. 
The  governing  idea  identified  by  Claude  Bernard  with  Aristotle's  final 
Cause,  existing  primordially  in  a  virtual  or  potential  state  and  advancing 
onwards  to  form.  The  possible  or  virtual  points  us  to  a  first  principle  for 
ever  actual  and  living. 

II.  Tke  Formative  Power  in  the  various  Kingdoms  of  Nature. — Impos- 
sibility of  passing  by  mere  transition  from  one  kingdom  to  another.  The 
hypothesis  of  spontaneous  generation  demonstrated  by  science  to  be 
false.  Mind  cannot  be  evolved  from  mere  physical  life,  nor  this  from  in- 
organic existence.  Beauty  an  end  in  nature  .  .  .  pp.  131-159. 


CHAPTER  II. 
OLDER  OBJECTIONS  TO  THE  THEORY  OF  CAUSATION. 

I.  Atomism. — Democritus  revived  by  Buchner. 

Reply.  —  1st.  To  attempt  any  explanation  of  things,  is,  on  the  theory  of 
atomism,  a  paralogism  ;  for  any  explanation  implies  an  idea  in  things.  2nd. 
The  idea  of  order,  of  harmony,  is  incompatible  with  fortuitously  whirling 
atoms.  3rd.  Absurdity  of  arguing  from  properties  inherent  in  atoms  (/.£.t 
from  that  which  reveals  law)  the  absence  of  an  intelligent  Cause.  4th. 
Atomism  has  never  demonstrated  that  force  is  inherent  in  matter,  nor  that 
force  is  capable  of  so  regulating  itself  as  to  produce  a  cosmos. 

II.  Organicism. — Organicism  excludes  design,  on  the  ground   that  the 
living  creature  has  properties  necessary  to  the  fulfilment  of  its  functions, 
and  that  all  is  explained  by  these  properties,  which  produce  the  organs 
and  set  them  to  work. 

Reply. — ist.  The  cells  of  which  the  living  organism  is  composed  are  not 
the  simple  product  of  inorganic  life.  The  organ,  therefore,  is  not  its  own 
adequate  explanation.  2nd.  The  properties  of  the  organs  reveal  a  pur- 
posive cause  in  their  adaptation  to  their  end.  3rd.  The  properties  of  an 
organ  do  not  alone  suffice  to  explain  the  disposition  of  the  organs.  The 
contractility  of  the  heart  would  never  have  made  it  the  complex  organ  it 
is.  4th.  The  co-ordination  of  the  organs  points  us  to  a  co-ordinating 
power  as  its  cause.  5th.  The  life  of  the  embryo,  in  which  at  the  outset  all 
the  rudimental  organs  resemble  each  other,  implies  a  presiding  idea  by 
which  the  development  of  the  various  types  of  animal  life  is  governed. 

Conclusion. — The  final  cause  makes  use  of  the  efficient  cause,  but  cannot 
be  identified  with  it pp.  160-170. 


xxviii  ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  III 

OBJECTIONS  FOUNDED  ON  THE  CONSERVATION  AND  TRANSFORMATION 
OF  ENERGY. 

The  axiom  that  energy  is  always  identical  with  itself  under  all  its  trans- 
formations, opposed  to  design. 

Reply. — 1st.  The  formula,  "Nothing  is  created ',  nothing  lost,"  is  not  an 
axiom.  The  first  clause  is  open  to  question,  the  second  cannot  be  taken  in 
an  absolute  sense.  We  see  existence  sinking  into  atrophy.  2nd.  Distinction 
drawn  by  Aristotle  between  quantity,  which  must  be  always  identical,  and 
quality,  which  introduces  the  element  of  diversity  and  consequently  of  free- 
dom of  choice  into  abstract  and  uniform  existence.  Quality  is  capable  of  all 
imaginable  variety.  Hence  freedom  of  choice  among  the  various  possi- 
bilities, and  an  element  of  contingency  in  the  laws  of  nature,  first,  in  pro- 
ducing the  actual  from  the  possible,  and  then  in  choosing  between  the 
various  possible  evolutions.  3rd.  Difference  between  mechanical  and 
spontaneous  motion  in  the  living  organs.  Distinction  between  quantity 
and  quality  in  the  motion  of  the  living  organism.  Diversity  of  effects 
produced  by  the  same  sum  of  motions  .  ,  ,  pp.  171-179. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION. — TRANSFORMISM. 

Distinction  between  evolution,  as  conceived  by  Darwin  in  his  earlier 
writings  and  the  mechanical  transformism  of  Herbert  Spencer  and  Haeckel. 
Evolutionism  treats  of  the  conditions  of  existence ;  transformism  solves 
the  question  of  origin  in  a  materialistic  sense.  There  is  no  necessary 
conflict  between  Darwin  and  theism.  Incompatibility  of  materialistic 
transformism  with  Deism.  Deism  lies  beyond  the  sphere  of  experimental 
science. 

I.  The  Doctrine  of  Evolution. — The  five  laws  which,  according  to  Darwin, 
govern  the  transformation  of  species.  1st.  Natural  selection.  2nd.  The 
struggle  for  existence,  giving  predominance  to  the  strongest.  3rd.  The  law 
of  heredity.  4th.  Adaptation  to  environment.  5th.  Co-ordination  of  organs. 
Design  essentially  implied  in  these  laws,  which  could  not  of  themselves 
so  operate  as  to  produce  biological  progression  by  means  of  evolution. 
This  opinion  expressed  by  A.  R.  Wallace,  the  precursor  of  Darwin. 

Objections  to  Darwinism. — 1st.  Darwin's  notion  of  a  species  very  vague. 
2nd.  His  system  not  borne  out  by  actual  experience.  3rd.  Palaeontology 
everywhere  shows  the  distinction  of  species.  4th.  The  testimony  of  facts 
adverse  to  the  universality  of  the  law  of  adaptation  to  environment  and 
to  that  of  sexual  selection.  5th.  Artificial  selection  does  not  produce  new 
types.  6th.  Sterility  of  hybrids  almost  uniform. 

Darwinism  partially  true  as  regards  secondary  transformations.    Naudin's 


ANALYTICAL    TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  xxix 

hypothesis  of  an  antecedent  age  in  which  the  plasticity  of  the  organism 
was  greater  than  at  present. 

II.  The  Monistic  Theory  of  Transformation. — Herbert  Spencer  resolves 
all  evolution  into  the  principle  of  the  conservation  of  energy  through  all 
its  transformations.     The  great  laws  of  motion  explained  in  his   "First 
Principles."     1st.  Motion  follows  the  line  of  least  resistance.     2nd,   Reac- 
tion follows  action,  so  that  a  period  of  aggregation  will  be  followed  by 
one  of  disaggregation.     3rd.  The  uniform  passes  into  the  multiform — the 
homogeneous  into  the  heterogeneous.     4th.   Separation — the  application 
of  the  law   of  natural  selection  to  living  organisms.     5^n-  Co-ordination. 
6th.  Adaptation  to  environment. 

Reply. — 1st.  The  conservation  of  energy  presented  as  an  axiom,  contra- 
dicts the  first  premisses  of  the  system.  2nd.  The  transition  from  the 
homogeneous  into  the  heterogeneous  remains  unexplained.  3rd.  The  pro- 
duction of  life  and  of  thought  is  not  accounted  for.  Evolution  can  add 
nothing  to  the  antecedent  facts.  It  only  brings  out  that  which  they  con- 
tain. Either  mind  was  already  present  in  the  primitive  homogeneous,  or 
it  has  been  added  subsequently.  4th.  Herbert  Spencer  considers  only  quan- 
tity, and  forgets  quality.  5th.  His  law  of  co-ordination  implies  design. 

Haeckel — Importance  attached  to  embryology.  The  human  embryo 
passes  through  all  the  stages  of  the  general  evolution  of  animal  forms. 
This  is  an  argument  for  one  general  plan  running  through  nature. 
Haeckel's  "Evolution  of  Man"  ends  in  a  pure  assumption.  He  is  com- 
pelled to  adopt  the  hypothesis  of  the  spontaneous  generation  of  the 
Monera.  Protest  of  Virchow  against  this  new  a  priori. 

III.  HegeVs  l^hcory  of  Immanence. — The  sch9ol  of  unconscious  and 
consequently  impersonal  adaptation.     Principle  of  adaptation  inherent  in 
things  themselves.     Mind  produced  by  the  dialectic  movement  of  the  ever- 
lasting Becoming.     The  greater  explained  by  the  less. 

IV.  Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann.  — Renan  and  Jules  Soury.  — Earliest 
form   of  pessimism.      The  essence  of  being  an  unconscious  will,    never 
obtaining  all  that  it  desires.     Hartmann's  philosophy  of  the  Unconscious. 
Exposition  of   his  system.     The  "Unconscious  constitutes  the  great  All." 
Infallibility  of  instinct  in  the  animal.     Man  owes  all  that  is  best  in  him 
to  unconscious  impulses.     The  immorality  of  history,  which  shows  us  the 
world  without  any  moral  government.     Everything  originates  in  the  great 
Unconscious,  who  is  at  once  the  Idea  and  the  Will.     The  Will  blindly 
evolves   the   totality  of  beings   from  the   Idea,  without  at  all   exhausting 
its  potentiality.     Hence   a   dull   unrest.     This  unrest  becomes  conscious 
after  the  involuntary  production  of  organised  matter,  and  specially  of  the 
brain.     For  the  first  time  the  sorrow  of  the  world   is  consciously  felt. 
Consciousness  struggles  to  free  itself   from  it  by   concentrating  itself  in 
the  human  individual,  who  is  to  end  by  suicide,  without  any  assurance  that 
the  whole  mournful  process  may  not  even  then  be  re-enacted. 


xxx  ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

Reply. — 1st.  The  assumed  infallibility  of  the  Unconscious  is  fallacious, 
since,  in  producing  the  world  at  all,  it  has  made  a  colossal  mistake.  2nd. 
The  production  of  consciousness  is  in  no  sense  a  deliverance,  since  it  height- 
ens the  sense  of  suffering.  3rd.  To  attribute  the  manifestations  of  design  in 
the  world  to  the  "  Unconscious,"  where  man  recognises  in  himself  conscious 
mind,  is  to  explain  the  greater  by  the  less.  4th.  Exaggeration  of  pes>imism, 
which  is  also  the  final  outcome  of  M.  Kenan's  "Dialogues  Philosophic/lies," 
and  M.  Jules  Soury's  "  hylozoism"  If  pessimism  is  a  natural  reaction 
from  the  optimism  which  ignores  evil  as  a  violation  of  natural  order, 
it  is  nevertheless  wrong  in  its  principle  and  in  its  conclusion,  for  moral 
order  is  no  illusion pp.  180-238. 


BOOK  THIRD. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING  (continued). 

MAN. 

CHAPTER   I. 

MAN  IN  HIS  TWOFOLD  NATURE. 

I.  Man,  Physiologically  Considered. — Man's  dependence  in  the  inferior 
part  of  his  being  on  chemico-physical  laws.     Their  modifications  in  living 
organisms.     Formation  of  a  sort  of  invariable  internal  atmosphere,  which 
renders  them  more  and  more  independent  of  their  external  environment. 
Great  physiological  discoveries  of  Claude  Bernard,  confirming  the  idea  of 
design.     Life  something  distinct  from  any  chemical  composition.     Perfec- 
tion of  the  human  organism.     Importance  of  morphology.     Beauty  in  the 
human  form  the  result  of  design. 

II.  Man  Intellectually  and  Morally  Considered. — Man's  three  distinctive 
faculties — to  know,  to  love,  to  will.     Man  begins  with  purely  instinctive  life. 
He  rises  into  conscious  life  by  an  effort  of  the  will.     Effort,  in  its  higher 
forms  of  attention  and  reflexion,  reveals  to  him  the  laws  of  reason  and  of 
conscience,  and  then  the  principle  of  his  being— God       .         pp.  241-255. 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  RELATION  OF  THE  PHYSICAL  AND  THE  MORAL. 

Identification  of  the  physical  with  the  moral  by  the  materialistic  schools. 
There  is  co-relation,  not  identity,  between  body  and  soul. 

I.  The  Brain  and  Thought. —  Materialistic  theory  developed  in  the 
writings  of  Luys,  Maudsley,  etc. 

Reply. — ist.  No  experiment  possible  upon  the  operation  of  the  human 
brain.  2nd.  The  theory  of  the  localisation  of  the  intellectual  faculties  is  not 
conclusively  demonstrated,  and  if  it  were,  it  would  not  imply  the  identifica- 


ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  xxxi 

tion  of  the  function  with  the  organ.  3rd.  Impossibility  of  confounding 
cerebral  motion  with  the  consciousness  of  motion,  by  the  admission  of  the 
greatest  physiologists.  4th.  The  brain,  which  is  essentially  a  multiple  and 
divisible  organ,  cannot  produce  the  unity  of  the  ego.  5th.  The  measure- 
ment and  weight  of  human  brains  establishes  a  certain  correlation  between 
the  function  and  the  organ  ;  but  at  the  same  time  shows  a  great  distinction 
between  them.  Physiological  analogy  between  the  brain  of  man  and  of  a 
monkey,  notwithstanding  the  vast  superiority  of  intellect  in  man. 

II.  Objections  drawn  jrom  the  Idea  of  Motion. — The  materialistic  schools 
identify  all  motion  with  reflex  motion,  in  order  to  maintain  the  universal 
supremacy  of  mechanical  laws. 

Reply. — ist.  Motion  is  not  merely  reflex  and  mechanical,  but  often  de- 
liberate and  voluntary.  2nd.  Reflex  motion  in  the  living  organism  is  not 
simply  mechanical;  it  obeys  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  3rd.  Motion 
in  the  living  organism  often  remains  latent  and  potential.  It  is  not,  then, 
subject  to  a  mere  mechanical  impulse.  4th.  Forces  may  remain  identical 
in  quantity  and  yet  may  differ  in  the  use  made  of  them.  5th.  Unquestion- 
able share  of  the  will  and  thought  in  disposing  variously  of  the  same  amount 
of  energy.  The  possibility  of  the  future  life  a  consequence  of  the  distinction 
established  between  the  moral  and  physical  life  of  man.  The  conditions  of 
the  existence  of  the  moral  being  may  change,  and  yet  it  may  survive. 

Dubois-Reymond's  seven  enigmas  of  Nature    .         .         .     pp.  256-281. 

CHAPTER  III. 
MAN  AND  THE  BRUTES. 

I.  Position  of  the  Question. — The  materialistic  schools  deny  any  specific 
difference  between  man  and  the  animal.     A.  R.  Wallace,  though  himself  an 
evolutionist,  maintains  their  essential  distinctness.     Opinions  of  Quatrefages 
and  Milne  Edwards. 

II.  Instinct  and  Intelligence. — Reality  of  instinct  disputed  by  the  material- 
istic schools,  which  trace  everything  to  sensation  in  the  living  organism. 
Possible  modification  of  instinct.     These  are  brought  about  in  the  animal 
through  the  influence  of  sensation  or  in  consequence  of  modifications  either 
of  the  organism  or  of  the  environment.     Man  alone  attains  to  conscious 
and  voluntary  life ;  to  reason,   which  grasps  the  universal ;  to  conscience, 
with  its  categorical  imperative.     His  highest  attribute  is  the  free  exercise 
of  the  will.     Proofs  of  this  distinction  between  man  and  the  brutes  drawn 
from  the  analysis  of  animal  instincts pp.  282-306. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
LANGUAGE  :  ITS  ORIGIN  AND  INFLUENCE  ON  KNOWLEDGE. 

The  brute  has  a  language  to  express  his  sensations,  but  he  never  rises  to 
speech.  The  language  of  the  brute  purely  instinctive.  Speech  a  voluntary 


xxxii  ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF   CONTENTS. 

act  of  the  conscious  life.  Various  forms  of  speech  ;  the  play  of  the  features, 
gesticulation,  articulate  language  the  most  perfect  instrument.  Essential 
differences  between  the  speech  of  man  and  the  language  of  the  brute. 
1st.  The  use  of  words  implies  abstraction  and  generalisation,  which  are  two 
operations  of  the  reason,  by  which  a  thing  is  grasped  by  some  one  special 
characteristic.  2nd.  Words  do  not  merely  express  sensation,  but  designate 
the  object  to  be  known.  Words  are  instruments  of  knowledge.  The  in- 
ternal word  makes  the  mind  conscious  of  itself.  The  external  word  is  the 
great  social  bond  and  the  chief  instrument  of  human  progress.  The  word 
rises  progressively  from  the  cry  to  conscious  and  rational  speech.  Impos- 
sible to  account  for  it  as  a  product  of  mere  sensation  or  of  sexual  selection. 
Man  did  not  receive  language  ready  formed.  He  was  made  capable  of 
speech.  Words  originate  in  the  symbolism  of  Nature,  which  was  more 
vivid  at  first  than  now.  Three  stages  in  the  evolution  of  language — the 
monosyllabic  period ;  the  period  of  agglutination ;  and  lastly  of  inflexion. 
Origin  of  writing  .....,«.  pp.  307-322. 

CHAPTER  V. 
HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES. 

I.  Specific  Character  of  Human  Society. — Social  Contract. — Man  essen- 
tially a  social  being.     Human  society  raised  above  instinctive  sociability 
to  spontaneous  sociability  based  upon  mutual  agreement  and  upon  justice. 
Rousseau's  "Contrat  Social"  a  chimera.     True  evolution  of  society  con- 
sists in  a  growing  recognition  of  the  rights  of  man,  and  in  their  voluntary 
acceptance  and  sanction  by  law.     Incompatibility  of  the  idea  of  a  social 
convention,  presented  by  Fouillee  in  his  "  Science  Sociale  Contemporaine," 
with  his  determinist  conclusions,  which  make  liberty  a  mere  idea  without 
any  corresponding  reality. 

II.  Refutation  of  the  Sociology  of  Positivism  and  of  the  Recent  German  and 
English  Psychology.  — Positivism  connects  sociology  closely  with  the  physical 
sciences.     Auguste  Comte's  refutation  of  himself.      His  latest  sociological 
theories  go  far  beyond  his  biology  in  their  humanitarian  mysticism.     Ex- 
clusivism  of  Buckle  and   Bagehot.     Elimination  of  the  higher  elements  of 
human  society.     Sociology  of  Herbert  Spencer.      Application  pure  and 
simple  of  the  principle  of  the  transformation  of  force  to  society.     Absolute 
assimilation  of  the  body  politic  to  the  human  body.     Objections. — ist.  Im- 
passable distance  between  the  physical  and  the  moral.     2nd.  Impossibility 
of  confounding  simply  instinctive  life  with  life  conscious  and  reflective. 

III.  Animal  Colonies  and  Societies. — Perrier  and  Espinas. — Spiritualistic 
basis  of  Perrier' s  system.      Every  living  organism  constitutes  a  colony,  a 
society  of  cells.     Exception  made  in  the  case  of  the  human  ego,  which  is 
not  the  simple  resultant  of  the  separate  consciousnesses  of  the  members  of 
the  colony.    This  exception  not  admitted  by  Espinas.     He  holds,  on  the  one 


ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  xxxiii 

hand,  that  every  living  organism  constitutes  a  society  of  cells,  each  cell 
having  its  own  individuality.  On  the  other  hand,  he  regards  human  society 
as  a  vast  collective  individuality  with  a  unity  of  consciousness.  This  theory 
incompatible  with  the  true  idea  either  of  society,  which  implies  the  concur- 
rence of  distinct  individualities,  and  with  the  idea  of  individuality  which 
demands  the  real  unity  of  the  consciousness.  The  three  stages  of  social 
life  those  of  nutrition,  reproduction,  and  relation,  common,  according  to 
Espinas,  to  animal  and  human  societies.  Wonderful  transformation  of 
these  three  stages  of  the  social  life  under  the  influence  of  the  free  and 
conscious  life  of  humanity  ...•••  pp.  323~3^1- 


BOOK  FOURTH. 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

CHAPTER  I. 
PRINCIPLE  AND  ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY. 

I.  The  Morality  of  Pleasure  and  of  Self-interest.— Epicurus,  the  phi- 
losopher of  pleasure.     Utilitarianism  of  Bentham.     New  developments  of 
utilitarianism  by  Stuart  Mill  and  evolutionism  of  Herbert  Spencer. 

II.  Refutation  of  the  Morality  of  Self -Interest. —  1st.   Refutation  of  utili- 
tarian theories  by  one  another.     2nd.  Utilitarianism  does  not  explain  but 
ignores  the  fact  of  moral  obligation.     Reality  of  the  obligation  proved  by 
universal  human  feeling  ;    by  remorse,  indignation,  admiration  of  hero- 
ism, by  great  social  facts,  such  as  law   and  penal  justice  ;  lastly,  by  all 
great   poetry.      3rd.  The  various  elements  which    constitute   the   fact  of 
obligation  are  irreconcilable  with  utilitarianism.     Obligation  implies  :    1st. 
A  law,  an  ideal ;  2nd.    A  law  bearing  upon  the  motive  of  our  acts  ;  3rd.  A 
law  enforced  by  a  direct  sanction  in  our  own  consciousness  ;  4th.   A  law 
which    is    really   intuitive    and   antecedent   to   experience.       Failure   of 
utilitarianism  to  satisfy  any  of  these  conditions  of  a  true  morality.     The 
law  of  adaptation  to  environment,  as  stated  by  Herbert   Spencer,  destroys 
the  principle  of  obligation.     This  principle  commands  us  repeatedly  to 
run  counter  to  our  environment. 

III.  Determinism   and  Free-will. — The    primary   duty   of    man    is    to 
believe  in  duty  ;  this  obligation  is  decisive  in  all  conflicts  between  the  con- 
science and  speculative  reason.     No  essential  contradiction  between  the 
one  and  the  other. 

The  distinction  of  quantity  and  quality  sets  us  free  from  the  fatalism 
of  the  laws  of  motion.  Motion  must  have  a  prime  motor  which  is  dis- 
tinct from  it  and  controls  it.  The  determinism  of  nature  is  not  the  first 


xxxiv  ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

beginning  of  things,  any  more  than  is  the  dialectic  determinism  of  the 
reason.  At  the  starting-point  of  all  science  is  an  intuition  which  grasps 
the  first  principle,  or  there  remains  an  ever-receding  mystery.  This  is  true 
emphatically  with  regard  to  morals.  It  is  erroneously  objected  that  the 
will  is  determined  by  the  desires,  for  these  are  not  irresistible. 

Man's  freedom  limited  but  not  destroyed  by  the  fact  of  solidarity.  The 
result  of  solidarity  traceable  to  free  acts  in  the  past.  Arbitrariness  of 
statistics  in  reference  to  particular  cases.  Heredity  carries  us  back  to  the 
free  acts  of  our  fathers,  and  does  not  produce  any  absolute  constraint. 
Freedom  of  action  reduced  to  a  mere  idea  by  M.  Fouillee.  Even  in  this 
limited  view  it  is  not  explained.  The  idea  of  freedom  of  action  cannot  be 
produced  by  universal  mechanism. 

IV.  Independent  Morality. — Morality  is  never  independent,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  of  the  general  conception  of  things.     Moral  obligation  alone  carries 
us  beyond  ourselves,  making  us  feel  ourselves  part  of  a  great  whole,  and 
therefore  bound   to   fulfil  our  duties   to   the  whole  and  to  its  principle, 
which  is  God.     Our  morality  is  modified  by  our  conception  of  this  whole, 
and  of  its  author.     Essential  difference  between  altruism,  transformism, 
and  unselfish  love. 

Incompatibility  of  the  law  of  natural  selection  with  the  principle  of 
charity.  Too  formal  character  of  Kant's  morality.  Moral  obligation 
reduced  in  French  criticism  to  mere  justice.  How  love  ought  to  influence 
morality.  Duty  to  God  one  with  duty  to  man. 

V.  Moral  Sanctions. — The  sanction  of  the  moral  law  is   a  postulate  of 
conscience.     This  sanction  is  not  the  same  thing  as  utilitarianism  for  the 
following  reasons :  1st.   Essential  difference  in  the  motives  of  our  acts. 
2nd.  The  sanction  of  the  moral  law  is  not  pleasure  but  happiness,  which  is 
inseparable  from  the   fulfilment  of  our  higher  destiny  as  members  of  the 
great  human  race.     The  sanction  is   only  completed   in   the  future  life. 
Punishment  is  never  a  mere  penalty,  but  always  tends  to  the  amendment 
of  the  guilty.     Absolute  opposition  between   the  morality  of    pessimism 
and'  that  to  which  the  moral  sanction  is  attached.     Incompatibility   of 
morality  with  the  principle  of  an  unconscious  will.     Duty,  as  defined  by 
the  pessimists,   is  an  illusion.     On  Schopenhauer's  theory  pity  is  only  a 
false  semblance,  for  all  distinction  between  the  subject  and  the  object  is 
obliterated.    Hartmann's  moralily  the  most  pitiless  possible.     Utilitarianism 
and  pessimism  make  common  cause  in  the  end    .  .     pp.  365-419. 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  IDEAL. — ART. 

I.  The  Sense  of  the  Ideal. — Power  of  the  sense  of  the  ideal  deep  and 
universal.  Aspiration  after  the  ideal  traceable  in  every  sphere  of  human 
life.  Its  centre  is  God. 


ANALYTICAL    TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  xxxv 

II.  The  Sense  of  the  Beautiful,— Art,  its  Threefold  Purpose.—  The  beau- 
tiful  inseparable  in  itself  from  the  true  and  the  good.  Its  proper  charac- 
ter. Beauty  the  expansion  of  vital  energy  with  harmonious  co-ordination. 
Beauty  in  things  results  from  the  striking  manifestation  of  their  harmony. 
This  harmony  the  full  expression  of  the  formal  cause  which  has  co-ordi- 
nated them  as  a  whole.  This  formal  cause  points  us  back  to  God  as  the 
final  Cause.  Man  must  have  the  sense  of  the  beautiful  before  he  can 
discern  it. 

The  formal  and  final  Cause  of  the  world  finding  its  highest  manifestation 
in  man,  man  projects  it  on  to  the  things  around  him.  Hence  anthropo- 
morphism in  art.  Threefold  mission  of  art.  1st.  To  realise  the  sense  of 
the  beautiful  in  nature  by  an  exercise  of  choice,  passing  by  some  part  of  the 
reality  in  order  the  better  to  bring  out  the  inner  principle  of  beauty,  the 
parent  idea  of  form.  2nd.  Creation  of  an  ideal  beauty  from  the  type  of  the 
beautiful  existing  in  the  reason.  Art  is  distinguished  from  morality,  inas- 
much as  it  produces  only  a  representation.  It  is  not  the  fulfilment  of  an 
obligation.  It  is  absolutely  disinterested,  and  thus  distinguished  from  the 
useful.  In  this  sense  alone  is  art  a  pastime.  3rd.  Third  mission  of  art, 
to  express  regret  at  never  being  able  to  attain  the  ideal.  Art  goes  beyond 
nature,  and  is  not  satisfied  therefore  with  merely  expressing  natural  beauty. 
Inadequacy  in  this  respect  of  Hegel  and  Goethe's  aestheticism. 

The  sense  of  the  sublime  points  to  something  beyond  the  merely  natural. 

pp.  420-436. 

CHAPTER  III. 

RELIGION,  ITS  NATURE  AND  ORIGIN. 

I.  The  Nature  of  Religion. — Religion  is  not  identical  in  its  essence  with 
any  of  our  faculties.      It  is  the  effort  of  the  whole  nature  to  unite  itself 
to  God.      It  implies  a  divine  influence  at  work   in   man.     This  ideal  of 
religion    sustained    by  the   evidence  of   history.       Intuition   an   essential 
element  of  religion.     The  religious  and  the  moral  sentiment  closely  con- 
joined.    Essential  elements  of  religion.      ist.  Intuition  of  the  infinite  by 
all  our  faculties.     2nd.   Sense  of  obligation.      3rd.   Belief  in  a  future  life. 
4th.  Sense  of  guilt  and  longing  after  reparation,  implying  the  idea  of  the 
supernatural.      Inadequacy  of  evolutionist  theories,  even  the  idealistic,  in 
all  these  respects  (Hegel,  Pflenderer,  Reville).      Hartmann's  sarcasm  on 
the  shallow  optimist  view  of  religion. 

II.  Various  Explanations  of  the  Origin  of  Religion. — Inadequacy  of  the 
naturalistic  explanation.      1st.  In  relation  to  the  moral  aspect  of  religion. 
2nd.  In  relation  to  the  idea  of  the  infinite,  which  Max  Miiller  confounds 
with  the  indefinite.     3rd.  In  relation  to  faith  in  a  future  life.     Naturalism 
gives  only  the  natural,  never  the  divine.     Insufficiency  of  such  explanations 
as  fear  of  the  unknown,  and  fetishism.      Impossibility  of  admitting  that 


xxxvi  ANALYTICAL    TABLE    OF  CONTENTS. 

fetishism  is  the  origin  of  the  idea  of  the  divine,  either  from  an  historical  or 
philosophical  point  of  view.  Explanations  given  by  Herbert  Spencer. 
The  dream  of  the  savage  suggesting  the  idea  of  his  other  self.  Exaggera- 
tion of  the  imbecility  of  the  savage.  He  knows  that  he  dreams.  He 
does  not  really  believe  in  his  double,  as  is  shown  by  his  ideas  of  the  future 
life,  which  is  always  more  or  less  connected  by  him  with  his  earthly  life 
and  conduct  • pp.  437-466. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN. 

Objection  drawn  from  the  condition  of  the  savage,  which  is  said  to  be  a 
vestige  of  the  primitive  bestiality  of  man.  The  savage  truly  human. 

I.  Savage  Nations. — Savage  life,  as  we  see  it,  often  proved  to  be  a  deca- 
dence from  a  higher  state.     Historical  and  psychological  evidence  of  this. 
Tylor's  theory  of  the  development  of  the  religious  element  in  the  savage 
(animism,  fetishism,  anthropomorphism,  mythology,   monotheism).     Faith 
in  the  future  life.     Tylor's  refutation  of  his  own  theory. 

Universality  of  Religion. — The  fact  of  worship  implies  a  distinction 
between  the  merely  natural  and  the  divine.  High  spiritualistic  idea  con- 
tained in  animism.  Rapid  development  of  monotheism,  showing  that  it 
underlies  all  primitive  religious  ideas.  Proofs  from  facts  in  all  religions  of 
savages. 

Universality  of  the  Idea  of  the  Future  Life.-  -Development  of  the  idea  of 
retribution  and  of  the  moral  idea  generally.  Prayer  and  sacrifice,  the  two 
great  elements  of  religious  rites,  becoming  purer  and  higher.  Proofs  sup- 
plied by  Christian  missions  that  the  savage  is  capable,  not  only  of  religion, 
but  of  the  highest  degree  of  religious  development. 

II.  The  Man  of  the  Caves  and  Lake  Dwellings. — Brief  sketch  of  discoveries 
of  traces  of  prehistoric  man.    Man  living  certainly  in  the  quaternary  period. 
The  three  periods  of  the  prehistoric  era — the  age  of  rough  stone,  the  age  of 
hewn  stone,  and  the  bronze  age.     The  iron  age  is  historic.     The  three  races 
of  the  palaeolithic  age. 

Geological  crises  through  which  the  troglodyte  passed  with  only  his  flint 
weapons.  Progress  traceable  in  these  products  of  primitive  industry  :  The 
use  of  fire — tilling  of  the  soil — the  family — religion — primitive  art — burials. 
Social  and  religious  state  of  the  primitive  Aryans  shown  by  comparative 
philology.  Religion  of  the  ancient  Mexicans.  Conclusion,  pp.  467-515. 


BOOK     FIRST. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM. 

BEFORE  estimating  the  value  of  the  various  explanations  of 
things,  one  preliminary  question  presents  itself :  Is  it  possible 
to  explain  them?  This  possibility  is  disputed  in  our  day  by 
the  Positivist  School,  who  recognise  only  the  verification  of 
facts  and  their  relations,  setting  aside  all  explanation  of  them. 
They  confine  us  to  the  question  of  the  hoiv,  treating  as  chime- 
rical that  of  the  why.  We  cannot  take  one  step  in  the  path 
of  inquiry,  till  we  have  removed  this  fundamental  objection 
which  bars  the  way. 

Let  us  first  define  the  theory  of  knowledge  held  by  the 
Positivist  School,  as  we  find  it  in  the  works  of  its  master, 
Auguste  Comte,  and  in  the  commentaries  of  his  illustrious 
disciple,  M.  Laird  The  theory  is  very  simple,  and  professedly 
based  on  the  exact  method  of  science.  The  province  of  science 
is  to  verify  all  that  comes  under  direct  observation,  all  the  facts 
of  experience;  and  to  classify  "them  without  any  regard  to  their 
origin  and  purpose,  since  these  do  not  come  within  the  scope 
of  experiment  and  observation.  The  telescope  sweeps  the 
farthest  fields  of  the  visible;  it  brings  before  us  what  we 
might  call  the  infinitely  great.  The  microscope  opens  to 
observation  the  infinitely  little ;  but  the  first  and  final  causes 
lie  yet  beyond.  Science  has  no  concern  with  them.  They 
belong  to  the  domain  of  the  inscrutable.  Positivism  neither 


4  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

denies  nor  affirms  anything  with  regard  to  them,  for  negation 
would  itself  be  a  theory  of  the  origin  of  things.  Materialism 
is  a  philosophy,  and  as  such  is  beyond  the  scope  of  positive 
science ;  and  this,  we  are  told,  is  the  boundary  beyond  which 
the  mind  of  man  cannot  go. 

Thought  did  not  at  first  observe  these  stern  limitations 
within  the  facts  of  direct  observation.  It  passed  through  two 
preliminary  phases,  so  broadly  and  clearly  marked  that  they 
may  be  regarded  as  historical  laws.  Auguste  Comte  says  : 
"  From  the  study  of  the  development  of  human  intelligence,  in 
all  directions  and  through  all  times,  the  discovery  arises  of  a 
great  fundamental  law,  to  which  it  is  necessarily  subject,  and 
which  has  a  solid  foundation  of  proof,  both  in  the  facts  of  our 
organisation  and  in  our  historical  experience.  The  law  is  this 
• — that  each  of  our  leading  conceptions,  each  branch  of  our 
knowledge,  passes  successively  through  three  different  theo- 
retical conditions :  the  theological  or  fictitious,  the  meta- 
physical or  abstract,  and  the  scientific  or  positive.  .  . 

In  the  theological  state  the  human  mind,  seeking  to  fathom 
the  essential  nature  of  being,  the  first  and  final  causes  (the 
origin  and  purpose)  of  all  effects — in  short,  absolute  knowledge 
— supposes  all  phenomena  to  be.  produced  by  the  immediate 
action  of  supernatural  beings.  In  the  metaphysical  state,  which 
is  only  a  modification  of  the  first,  the  mind  supposes,  instead  of 
supernatural  beings,  abstract  forces,  veritable  entities  (that  is, 
personified  abstractions)  inherent  in  all  beings,  and  capable  of 
producing  all  phenomena.  .  .  . 

In  the  final,  the  positive  state,  the  mind  has  given  over  the 
vain  search  after  absolute  notions,  the  origin  and  destination 
of  the  universe,  and  the  causes  of  phenomena,  and  applies 
itself  to  the  study  of  their  laws ;  that  is,  their  invariable 
relations  of  succession  and  resemblance.  Reasoning  and 
observation  duly  combined  are  the  means  of  this  knowledge. 
What  is  now  understood  when  we  speak  of  an  explanation  of 
facts,  is  simply  the  establishment  of  a  connection  between 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  5 

single  phenomena  and  some  general  facts,  the  number  of  which 
continually  diminishes  with  the  progress  of  science.1 

The  first  formula  of  Positivism,  its  true  starting  point,  has 
remained  unchanged.  The  theory  of  the  three  states  is  borne 
out  alike  in  individual  and  in  general  history  ;  for  the  majority 
of  thinking  men  have  been  theologians  in  their  childhood, 
metaphysicians  in  their  youth,  and  natural  philosophers  in 
their  manhood.  Philosophy,  thus  understood,  is  nothing  more 
than  a  classification  of  observed  facts,  "  so  arranged  as  that  the 
study  of  each  category  may  be  grounded  on  the  principal  laws 
of  the  preceding,  and  serve  as  the  basis  of  the  next  ensuing. 
We  must  begin  then  with  the  study  of  the  most  general  or 
simple  phenomena,  going  on  successively  to  the  more  par- 
ticular or  complex.  .  .  .  Thus  we  have  before  us  five 
fundamental  sciences  in  successive  dependence — astronomy, 
physics,  chemistry,  physiology,  and  social  physics.  The  first 
considers  the  most  general,  simple,  abstract,  and  remote 
phenomena  known  to  us,  and  those  which  affect  all  others 
without  being  affected  by  them.  The  last  considers  the  most 
particular,  complex,  concrete  phenomena,  and  those  which 
are  the  most  interesting  to  man.  Between  these  two  the 
degrees  of  speciality,  of  complexity,  and  individuality  are  in 
regular  proportion  to  the  place  of  the  respective  sciences  in 
the  scale  exhibited."2 

The  science  which  treats  of  humanity  and  its  relations  is 
called  social  physics.  It  is  the  resultant  of  all  the  preceding 
sciences.  Positivism,  by  excluding  the  study  of  this  subject, 
leaves  the  soul  and  the  conscience  altogether  out  of  its 
domain.  M.  Littre  says  :  "  Those  who  define  philosophy  as  I 
do,  to  be  a  conception  of  the  world,  dispense  with  psychology. 
The  Positive  conception  of  the  world  is  only  to  be  arrived  at 
by  purely  objective  methods."3 

1  •'  The  Positive  Philosophy  of  Auguste  Comte."     Translated  by  H, 
Martineau.     Second  edition,  vol.  i.  pp    I,  2.         2  Ibid.,  pp.  21-23. 
3  Littre.     '•  Fragments  de  Philosophic  Positive,"  p.  268. 


6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

Auguste  Comte  is  no  less  explicit  in  this  negation  of  psy- 
chology. "  It  is  out  of  the  question/'  he  says,  "  to  make  an 
intellectual  observation  of  intellectual  processes;  for  the 
observed  and  observing  organ  being  here  the  same,  its  action 
cannot  be  pure  and  natural.  In  order  to  observe,  your  intel- 
lect must  pause  from  activity ;  yet  it  is  this  very  activity  that 
you  want  to  observe.  If  you  cannot  effect  the  pause,  you  can- 
not observe ;  if  you  do  effect  it,  there  is  nothing  to  observe. 
The  results  of  such  a  method  are  in  proportion  to  its  absurdity. 
After  two  thousand  years  of  psychological  pursuit,  no  one 
proposition  is  established  to  the  satisfaction  of  its  followers."1 

M.  Littre  adds  :  "  Man,  like  the  little  globe  he  inhabits,  is 
thus  brought  to  take  his  true  place  in  the  universe.  As  soon 
as  he  ceases  to  pose  as  the  centre  of  the  world,  he  is  lost  like 
a  point  in  boundless  space.  When  the  natural  philosopher  is 
once  convinced  that  the  essential  nature  of  things, — the  origin 
and  destination  of  the  universe,  and  the  causes  of  phenomena, 
— are  insoluble  problems,  positive  science  begins.  Accepting 
only  the  results  of  experiment  and  observation,  the  mind  gives 
over  the  vain  search  after  absolute  notions  beyond  the  reach  of 
either.  While  positive  science,  thus  freed  from  impediments, 
steadily  advances  carrying  conviction  to  man's  intellect,  that 
same  intellect  turns  away  from  metaphysical  speculation,  ever 
agitating  questions  to  which  there  is  no  reply.  Everything  is 
judged  by  facts  and  results."  2  Theology  is  naturally  involved 
in  the  same  downfall  with  psychology ;  it  had  indeed,  we  are 
told,  already  given  place  to  metaphysics  before  this  in  its  turn 
was  swept  away  by  the  advance  of  positive  science. 

The  essence  of  Positivism  is  contained  in  these  assertions, 
for  its  scientific  construction  is  really  only  a  method  of  arrang- 
ing facts  on  a  vast  encyclopaedic  plan,  without  drawing  from 
them  any  conclusion.  Nothing  is  more  contrary  to  its  funda- 

1  "  The  Positive  Philosophy  of  Auguste  Comte,"  vol.  i.,  p.  10. 

2  Littre.      "  Preface  d'un  Disciple  au  Cours  de  Philosophic  Positive," 
p.  25. 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  ^ 

mental  principle  than  to  seek  in  the  fact  anything  beyond 
itself.  Its  influence  has  been  great,  just  on  account  of  this 
simplicity  in-  its  formulas,  deceptive  as  it  really  is.  It  has 
profited  by  the  natural  but  loo  exclusive  admiration  which  the 
magnificent  advance  of  science  has  aroused  in  our  generation. 
Its  achievements  are  indeed  mainly  due  to  that  experimental 
method,  the  lawfulness  of  which  we  ourselves  are  the  readiest 
to  acknowledge  in  its  application  to  natural  phenomena.  The 
error  of  Positivism  is,  that  it  extends  the  operation  of  this 
method  beyond  its  proper  domain,  and  asserts  for  it  a  monopoly 
to  which  it  has  no  claim.  It  has  not  been  true  to  the  engage- 
ment made  by  M.  Littre',  who  promised  that  he  would  not 
become  intoxicated  with  his  own  wine.  Passionately  devoted 
himself  to  experimental  science,  he  is  unwilling  to  recognise 
anything  beyond  it,  even  when  the  facts  that  present  them- 
selves for  solution  are  enacted  in  the  sphere  of  our  own 
consciousness,  and  are,  to  say  the  least,  quite  as  real  and 
positive  as  those  of  the  external  world. 

The  first  charge  that  we  make  against  Positivism  is,  that  it 
has  not  been  true  to  its  own  principles,  in  suppressing  arbi- 
trarily an  entire  class  of  facts  which  demand  to  be  verified, 
and  which  are  true  conditions  of  being.  To  eliminate  or 
mutilate  facts,  is  as  unscientific  as  to  accept  them  on 
insufficient  grounds.  Why  should  such  a  limitation  be  made, 
except  on  the  ground  that  the  phase  of  existence  thus  volun- 
tarily excluded  from  view,  cannot  be  brought  within  the  accepted 
formula,  and  threatens  to  shatter  the  preconceived  mould  within 
which  it  has  been  determined  to  restrict  all  knowledge  ?  Yet 
this  psychological  fact  has  a  real  existence;  and  the  soul 
cannot  be  quenched  or  petrified  at  will.  Not  only  does  the 
mind  claim  to  be  itself  studied,  but  it  is  ever  questioning. 
Not  content  with  learning  the  conditions  of  existence,  it 
reaches  after  the  principle,  the  cause  of  being.  It  is  an  inde- 
fatigable interrogator,  on  whom  no  theory  can  impose  silence. 
This  eternal  why  of  the  mind  is  therefore  a  fact.  Let  it  be 


8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

observed  that  this  is  no  passing  and  intermittent  phase  of  the 
human  mind  ;  it  is  an  instinctive,  invincible  tendency,  inher- 
ent in  its  very  constitution,  and  manifesting  itself  under  all  cir- 
cumstances. The  lapse  of  centuries  and  the  progress  of  science 
make  no  change  in  it.  Its  thirst  after  knowledge  is  as  eager 
now  as  it  was  in  the  confused  and  dreamy  days  of  man's  infancy. 
VVe  do  not  make  it  a  reproach  against  Positivism  that  it  does 
not  explain  this  fixed,  universal,  essential  instinct  of  the  mind, 
since  it  does  not  pretend  to  explain  anything;  but  we  do  com- 
plain that  a  plain  psychological  fact  is  ignored,  and  left  out  of  a 
programme  which  professes  to  verify  all  facts.  It  is  surely 
much,  if  we  can  prove  as  a  permanent  and  incontrovertible 
reality,  this  craving  of  the  mind  of  man  to  know  something  of 
the  origin  and  purpose  of  all  effects.  We  are  thus  brought 
very  near  to  a  recognition  of  the  existence  of  the  principle  of 
causation.  If  it  is  admitted  that  this  principle  is  universally 
present,  we  have  no  right  to  ignore  it.  If  to  search  after 
causes  is  an  instinct  of  the  human  mind  under  all  conditions, 
then  that  search  must  be  pursued.  The  fetters  which  positive 
science,  or  rather  the  Positivist  system,  would  lay  upon  it, 
must  needs  be  broken.  Nothing  can  prevent  its  stretching  out 
its  wings  into  the  forbidden  region. 

The  general  history  of  humanity,  alike  in  the  present  and 
the  past,  is  conclusive  against  Positivism,  and  directly  con- 
tradicts the  famous  theory  of  the  three  states.  It  is  certain, 
first  of  all,  that,  so  far  from  excluding  each  other,  as  a  matter 
of  fact  they  everywhere  co-exist  in  the  human  breast.  Posi- 
tivism must  at  least  admit  that  it  is  not  supported  by  chro. 
nology.  However  far  back  we  go  in  the  history  of  civilised 
humanity,  we  find,  everywhere  and  always,  religion,  philosophy, 
and  positive  science  existing  together,  and  striving  to  disen- 
tangle themselves  from  their  first  confusion  without  ever 
separating  entirely.  If  we  look  at  our  own  times  only,  it  is 
beyond  question  that  positive  science  has  not  banished  either 
religion  or  metaphysics.  Religion  is  more  active  than  it  ever 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  9 

was ;  it  underlies  all  our  controversies ;  and  if  the  tendency  of 
our  day  is  to  separate  it  more  and  more  from  politics,  this 
does  not  prevent  its  being  still  the  most  powerful  lever  to  move 
the  mind  of  man,  whether  it  be  for  it  or  against  it.  The  very 
vehemence  with  which  it  is  opposed  proves  that  it  is  no 
mere  shadow,  no  intangible  phantom,  against  which  men  are 
fighting. 

We  are  not  speaking  of  religion  now  as  a  sentiment  only, 
but  as  a  science.  The  great  theological  movement  inaugurated 
by  Schleiermacher,  and  carried  on  by  such  thinkers  as  Nitsch 
and  Rothe,  must  be  ignored  by  those  who  affirm  that  theology 
is  a  thing  of  the  past.  It  has  numbered  more  adepts  in  our 
day  than  Positive  philosophy,  and  it  has  displayed  as  much 
vigour  and  intellectual  depth  as  those  who  declare  it  to  be 
defunct.  With  regard  to  metaphyics,  it  is  enough  to  mention 
the  names  of  Kant,  Schelling,  and  Hegel,  and  more  recently 
of  Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann,  in  order  to  show  that  specu- 
lative thought,  so  far  from  being  in  its  decadence,  has  had  in 
our  day  a  time  of  rare  exaltation  and  enthusiasm.  When  we  look 
yet  more  closely,  we  see  that  Positivism  itself,  so  far  from 
repudiating  metaphysics,  casts  its  roots  deep  into  it ;  for  it  was 
Hegelianism  which,  by  placing  the  Absolute  in  the  "  Becoming," 
that  is,  in  things  nascent  or  contingent,  prepared  the  minds  of 
men  to  reject  it  altogether.  Not  only  do  religion,  metaphysics, 
and  positive  science  co-exist  in  the  same  period;  but  they  are 
united  in  the  same  man.  Jean-Jacques  Ampere,  for  example, 
was  at  once  a  decided  Christian,  a  profound  metaphysician, 
and  one  of  the  most  illustrious  masters  of  positive  science, 
which  he  enriched  by  important  discoveries. 

How  can  the  theory  of  the  three  states  be  defended  against 
this  refutation  of  it  by  well-established  facts  ?  It  may  be 
said,  no  doubt,  that  in  every  age  there  are  laggards,  and  that 
it  is  the  leaders  only  who  must  be  taken  as  representative  men. 
But  if  Positivists  are, — as  this  explanation  would  imply, — the 
leaders  of  the  intellectual  movement  of  the  day,  they  must  at 


io  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

any  rate  be  followed  by  the  great  body  of  the  army ;  and  this 
is  certainly  not  the  case.  Rather,  we  find  these  leaders 
themselves  carried  away  by  those  who  follow  them,  since  the 
Positivist  school  is  more  and  more  abandoning  the  famous 
theory  of  the  Unknowable,  in  favour  of  a  materialistic  expla 
nation  of  the  universe.  Thus  unconsciously  it  is  becoming 
metaphysical,  and  proving  untrue  to  the  fundamental  principle 
of  its  philosophy. 

These  considerations  lead  us  to  look  more  closely  into  the 
theory  of  the  three  states,  and  to  inquire  if  it  is  not  based 
upon  some  misconception.  In  the  first  place,  the  Positivist 
school  takes  an  unfair  advantage  by  giving  a  definition  of 
theology  and  metaphysics  which  applies  only  to  their  lowest 
manifestations.  In  Comte's  view  the  theological  state  consists 
essentially  in  a  vulgar  fetishism,  personifying  and  deifying 
all  the  forces  of  nature,  while  metaphysics  simply  substitutes 
entities,  that  is  personified  abstractions,  for  the  fetishes.  This 
is  true,  not  of  primitive,  but  of  degenerate  religion ;  for  it  is 
proved,  more  and  more  clearly,  as  we  shall  show  presently, 
that  religion  is  in  its  essence  monotheistic,  as  it  was  in  its 
primeval  form.  Again,  only  the  Realistic  school  can  be 
accused  of  this  sort  of  idolatry  of  entities.  Theology  and 
metaphysics  have  both  progressed,  and  this  progress  has  not 
consisted  simply  in  giving  place  to  Positive  science;  it  has 
been  carried  on  in  their  own  domain.  They  too  have  had 
their  evolution.  Theology  has  been  confronted  with  the 
gravest  problems  of  the  human  mind,  and  has  dealt  with 
them  by  purely  scientific  methods.  Metaphysics  has  long 
ceased  to  satisfy  itself  with  vague  mythological  ideals,  and  has 
taken  its  stand  on  the  facts  of  psychology.  Here  it  has  been 
led  to  recognise  the  principle  of  causation,  which  is  no  y£on 
of  a  fantastic  Gnosticism,  but  is  at  once  a  plain  fact  and  a 
principle.  Thus  intellectually  regarded,  theology  has  never 
been  divorced  from  metaphysics.  Both  have  had  to  take  up 
the  same  problems,  and  have  often  given  the  same  explain 


KNOWLEDGE  AND   POSITIVISM.  n 

tions;  they  have  thus  dwelt  together  in  the  same  great  minds. 
Descartes,  Malebranche,  Leibnitz,  Maine  de  Biran,  Schelling 
in  his  later  manner,  were  all  at  the  same  time  theologians  and 
metaphysicians.  The  question  of  authority  cannot  be  said  to 
mark  the  distinction  between  theology  and  metaphysics,  be- 
cause neither  the  one  nor  the  other  has  settled  it  in  any  uniform 
manner.  We  see  then  that  there  is  too  much  of  metaphysics 
in  theology  and  too  much  of  theology  in  metaphysics,  for  us 
to  regard  them  as  distinct  steps  in  the  ladder  of  intellectual 
development. 

If  we  pass  on  to  positive  science,  we  shall  be  led  again  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  is  not  incompatible  with  theology  and 
metaphysics.  It  is  indeed  a  fatal  mistake,  to  make  science 
dependent  upon  the  other  two;  but  without  pursuing  further 
here  a  line  of  thought  which  we  shall  take  up  presently,  it 
may  be  affirmed  that  positive  science  itself  points,  so  to  speak, 
to  something  higher  than  itself;  that  it  implies  of  necessity 
a  higher  order  of  things  which  it  does  not  explain,  and 
which  calls  into  play  intuitive  faculties  of  the  human  mind, 
whose  unquestionable  existence  justifies  the  researches  of 
theology  and  metaphysics.  Positive  science,  just  because  it 
is  true  science,  rises  from  the  particular  to  the  general,  and 
after  proving  the  connection  between  single  phenomena 
evolves  from  it  laws  which  bear  upon  the  future.  Starting 
from  the  relation  of  antecedent  and  resultant,  it  affirms  that 
the  same  conditions  of  existence  will  always  produce  the  same 
effects  in  the  future.  This  is  the  very  postulate  of  positive 
science.  But  this  transition  from  the  particular  to  the  general, 
from  the  present  to  the  future  fact,  cannot  be  determined  by 
the  mere  observation  of  the  object.  •  Such  observation  does 
not  include  either  prevision  or  generalisation  ;  it  only  brings 
us  into  contact  with  a  succession  of  phenomena.  To  make 
one  such  phenomenon  the  condition  of  the  other ;  to  conclude 
that  a  repetition  of  the  same  antecedents  will  produce  the  same 
results ;  to  make  this  a  law  of  nature,  something  more  is 


12  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

required  than  observation.  There  must  be  a  predisposition 
of  the  mind,  an  a  priori  element  All  is  not  comprised  then 
in  the  object  perceived;  the  perceiving  subject  is  active  also. 
We  are  thus  raised  by  positive  science  itself  above  mere 
sensation.  We  are  brought  to  the  threshold  of  a  higher 
region.  Why  then  should  positive  science  preclude  meta- 
physics from  entering  that  domain  ?  It  is  never  intended  to 
be  a  substitute  for  metaphysics.  It  is  its  duty  to  guard  its 
own  sphere  from  anything  that  would  falsify  observation,  but  it 
can  go  no  farther.  Hence  positive  science  may  have  the  fullest 
scope,  while  side  by  side  with  it  metaphysics  and  theology 
carry  on,  as  they  have  ever  done  in  fact,  a  work  no  less  im- 
portant and  grand. 

E  pur  si  mnove. — This  is  a  truth  that  holds  not  merely  of 
the  earth  sweeping  onwards  in  its  orbit,  and  sweeping  with  it 
the  theologian  who  denies  its  motion,  but  also  in  the  sphere 
of  thought,  that  thought  which  ceaselessly  pursues  the  causes 
of  things  and  hurries  with  it  in  its  search  even  those  who  fain 
would  trammel  it.  In  this  connection  we  have  certain  utter- 
ances as  important  as  they  are  significant  from  the  founder  of 
the  Positive  school.  "  As  to  the  living  organism,"  he  says, 
"the  prime  character,  nay, almost  the  whole  matter,  is  expressed 
•in  this  :  Unity  and  coherence  in  space,  progressive  change  in 
time.  The  efficient  cause  of  this  unity  and  progress  is  life 
itself.  In  the  science  of  organic  beings,  everything  depends 
on  the  mode  of  grouping  or  coherence,  and  this  is  the  resultant 
and  expression  of  a  certain  unity  to  maintain  which  everything 
concurs.  Synthesis  in  biology  is  to  supplant  analysis.  Each 
order  of  existence  is  to  the  order  above  it  as  a  plastic  matter, 
to  which  the  higher  order  gives  form  and  shape.  The  higher 
gives  the  key  for  the  explanation  of  the  lower.  It  is  in 
humanity  that  we  must  look  for  the  explanation  of  nature 
generally.  Animal  life,  taken  as  a  totality,  would  be  unintellig- 
ible apart  from  the  higher  factors  and  attributes  which  form 
the  subject-matter  of  sociology.  The  highest  type  of  all  con- 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  13 

stitntes  in  itself  the  complete  determining  principle  of  the 
universe  biological." 

M.  Ravaisson  very  justly  brings  out  the  inconsistency  of 
such  declarations  with  the  essential  principles  of  Positivism. 
He  says  :  "  Comte  likewise  repudiates  any  metaphysical  ex- 
planation, any  cause  beyond  the  mutual  action  and  reaction 
of  organism  and  physical  environment.  But  if  the  phenomenon 
alone  is  real,  how  are  we  to  find  in  it  any  causation,  any  explana- 
tion of  other  phenomena  ?  The  explanation  of  the  lower  by 
the  higher  implies  a  final  cause."1 

Thus  has  positive  science  itself  defined  the  sphere  of  the 
two  great  disciplinary  methods  of  the  human  mind,  which 
Positivism  would  proscribe.  The  co-existence  of  theology 
and  metaphysics  with  positive  science,  which  in  our  view  is 
vindicated  alike  by  theory  and  practice,  by  no  means  implies 
that  they  should  be  confounded  together.  They  co-exist  just 
because  their  objects  are  not  identical,  but  correspond  to 
different  and  mutually  complementary  requirements  of  our 
nature. 

Professor  Flint  has  justly  observed  :  "  There  are  three  ways 
of  looking  at  things — a  religious,  a  metaphysical,  and  a  scien- 
tific. But  three  aspects  are  not  three  successive  states.  From 
the  fact  that  it  is  natural  for  the  mind  to  look  at  things  in  all 
these  three  ways,  it  in  no  wise  follows  that  it  is  necessary,  or 
even  natural,  to  look  at  them  one  after  another.  Nay,  just 
because  it  is  so  natural  to  look  at  things  in  all  these  three 
ways,  it  is  not  natural  to  suppose  that  the  one  mode  will  be 
exhausted,  gone  through,  before  the  other  is  entered  on,  but 
that  they  will  be  simultaneous  in  origin  and  parallel  in  develop- 
ment."2 

In  order  to  form  a  clear  idea  of  these  three  ways  of  looking 
at  things,  it  will  be  necessary  to  define  more  distinctly  the 

1  Ravaisson.     "  Rapport  sur  la  Philosophic  Frar^aise,"  1867,  p.  88. 

2  "  The  Philosophy  of  History  in  Europe."     By  Robert  Flint,     Vol.  i, 
p.  269. 


14  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

difference  between  what  the  Positivist  school  calls  the  first  t\vc 
states  of  the  human  mind,  which  it  defines  as  the  theological 
and  the  metaphysical.  We  are  at  a  loss  to  show  any  well- 
marked  difference  between  them  indicated  by  the  distinction. 
We  have  already  alluded  to  the  point  of  resemblance  between 
theology  and  metaphysics.  It  seems  to  us  better,  therefore,  to 
designate  the  first  state  or  aspect  of  things  by  the  name 
religion.  Theology  is  doubtless  closely  allied  to  religion,  but 
it  differs  from  it  in  this  respect,  that  religion  is  not  primarily 
an  affair  of  the  intellect — a  speculation — but  is  essentially 
practical  in  its  character — an  impulse  of  the  soul,  or  rather  of 
the  whole  being.  We  confine  ourselves  for  the  moment  to  one 
general  characteristic  which  we  shall  vindicate  when  studying 
presently  the  origin  of  religion.  Awed,  often  overwhelmed,  by 
the  mysterious  intuition  of  the  great  unknown  which  holds  him 
at  once  trembling  and  spell-bound,  man  has  an  instinctive 
desire  to  apprehend  its  meaning  with  his  intellect,  his  heart, 
and  his  will.  It  may  not  be  said  that  he  becomes  religious 
through  terror  of  this  great  unknown.  For,  if  this  were  so,  the 
desire  after  a  religious  life  would  cease  as  soon  as  the  terror 
was  dispelled.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  man  in  whom  fear  has 
been  cast  out,  so  far  from  trying  to  forget  God,  is  ever  pressing 
nearer  to  Him.  longing  to  know  Him  better,  or  rather  to  be 
made  one  with  Him.  Religion,  to  be  truly  understood,  should 
not  be  regarded  in  its  lowest  manifestations,  in  that  gross 
fetishism  in  which  Positivism  wrongly  supposes  it  to  originate. 
Positivism  has  no  right  to  apply  to  it  another  criterion  than 
that  which  it  applies  to  science.  It  does  not  measure  science 
by  the  confused  and  dim  utterances  of  its  early  period,  but 
rather  by  its  highest  achievements  in  modern  times.  Let 
the  same  rule  be  in  simple  justice  applied  to  religion.  It 
has  produced  types  which  have  grandly  embodied  its  true 
ideal— a  living  union  between  man  and  God.  Aspiration  after 
the  Divine  is  its  great  characteristic.  It  is  this  which  wings  its 
thought,  fires  its  heart,  prompts  its  will — thus  bending  its  three 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  15 

essential  faculties  in  one  and  the  same  direction.  We  have 
not  now  to  inquire  whether  this  religious  life  is  or  is  not  based 
upon  its  aspirations.  It  is  enough  for  us  to  recognise  it  as  an 
unquestionable  reality,  and  to  determine  its  character  as 
evidenced  by  the  history  of  the  human  race.  This  suffices  to 
establish  that  religion  is  essentially  distinguished  from  pure 
metaphysics,  whether  theological  or  philosophical.  There  are, 
undoubtedly,  real  affinities  between  the  two,  for  the  tending 
of  the  moral  nature  Godward  quickens  the  desire  to  know 
Him  better  in  Himself  as  well  as  in  His  manifestations ;  thus 
religion  has  ever  given  the  most  powerful  impetus  to  meta- 
physics. But  whenever,  under  the  impulse  thus  given,  the 
mind  abandons  itself  to  mere  speculation,  religion  becomes 
only  secondary.  The  theologian  needs  none  the  less  to  be 
under  the  influence  of  religion,  for  man  is  only  in  equilibrium 
when  all  his  nature  is  acting  harmoniously ;  and  even  the 
speculative  faculty  works  least  advantageously  in  a  vacuum 
from  which  all  moral  facts  are  excluded ;  nevertheless,  the  fact 
remains,  that  in  metaphysical  research  the  keynote,  so  to  speak, 
is  purely  intellectual.  There  is  not  then  absolute  separation 
between  religion  and  metaphysics,  but  there  is  sufficient 
distinction  to  justify  us  in  saying  that  we  have  here,  not  two 
states  of  the  human  mind,  incompatible  and  therefore  neces- 
sarily successive,  but  two  aspects  of  things  which  may  perfectly 
well  co-exist  and  even  supplement  each  other  without  any  sort 
of  contradiction.  Religion,  like  metaphysics,  enters  the  region 
of  causes ;  but  the  one  soars  aloft  on  an  impulse  of  the  soul, 
the  other  climbs  by  speculation.  Yet  both  may  blend  in  the 
same  mind,  and  a  man  may  be  at  once  the  boldest  of  thinkers 
and  the  most  fervent  of  Christians. 

Positive  science  is  more  sharply  distinguished  from  religion 
and  metaphysics.  The  task  assigned  to  it  by  Positivism  is 
peculiarly  its  own.  It  is  its  mission  to  inquire  into  the  con- 
ditions of  all  existence,  to  establish  the  connexion  of  facts, 
and  their  invariable  relations  of  succession  and  resemblance ; 


1 6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

all  of  which  belongs  to  the  field  of  observation  and  experiment. 
How  can  religion  and  metaphysics  come  into  collision  with 
science  thus  understood,  if  only  each  keeps  within  its  proper 
domain,  being  careful  not  to  confound  the  how  with  the  why, 
the  question  of  the  conditions  of  existence  with  that  of  its 
causes  ?  This  confusion  arises  in  two  ways.  Either  religion 
and  metaphysics  mix  up  the  how  and  the  why,  introducing 
into  processes  of  observation  and  experiment,  arbitrary  and 
capricious  pseudo-causes  ;  as,  for  instance,  when  mythology 
represents  the  thunder  to  be  the  voice  of  the  Divine  wrath, 
leaving  it  to  science  to  ascertain  the  physical  conditions 
of  the  phenomenon.  It  is  only  in  its  lower  form  that  religion 
is  guilty  of  such  confusion  as  this  ;  it  does  not  depend  neces- 
sarily upon  the  religious  point  of  view.  Or,  on  the  other  hand, 
positive  science,  not  content  with  ascertaining  the  conditions 
of  life,  confounds  them  with  the  first  causes,  and  introduces 
the  why  into  the  how.  In  both  cases  there  is  incompatibility 
between  religion  or  metaphysics  and  positive  science,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  each  has  invaded  the  domain  of  the  other, 
and  has  attempted  to  occupy  the  whole  field  of  human  activity. 
Thenceforth  their  claims  become  incompatible,  their  co-exist- 
ence impossible,  and  the  theory  of  the  three  states  is  vindicated. 
But  the  contradiction  ceases  so  soon  as  each  returns  within  its 
legitimate  boundary,  and  positive  science  restricts  itself  to  the 
contemplation  of  the  conditions  of  existence  and  the  corre- 
lation of  natural  phenomena.  In  this  sphere  the  fullest  liberty 
may  be  accorded  to  it.  No  one  will  attempt  to  control  it  by 
text  or  dogma,  when  once  it  is  understood  that  religion  has 
no  right  over  its  domain,  that  there  is  no  higher  authority 
to  be  invoked  against  it ;  that  it  is  sovereign  in  its  own 
sphere ;  that  the  experimenter  in  his  laboratory,  the  naturalist 
entering  the  vast  field  of  nature,  is  bound  to  believe  nothing 
but  his  own  observation ;  and  that  the  interposition  of  any 
power  whatsoever  between  him  and  the  facts  of  nature  is  a 
usurpation. 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  17 

From  this  point  of  view  it  is  clear  that  writers  who,  like 
Draper,  pretend  to  record  the  defeats  of  religion  in  the 
triumphs  of  positive  science,  are  boasting  a  cheap  victory.1 
That  which  has  been  happily  vanquished  is  the  encyclopaedic 
religion  of  the  Middle  Ages,  which  made  the  sun  move  at  the 
word  of  the  prophet  on  the  strength  of  a  scripture  text,  and 
was  thus  forced  to  condemn  Galileo — the  religion  which  could 
not  admit  that  the  earth,  instead  of  being  the  centre  of  the 
world,  was  but  a  point  in  infinite  space.  Such  a  religion, 
whether  upheld  by  the  Catholic  hierarchy  or  by  a  Protestant 
orthodoxy  enslaved  to  the  letter  of  the  Bible,  is  usurping 
authority  to  which  it  has  no  claim.  True  religion  has  to  do 
simply  with  the  relation  of  the  soul  to  God ;  it  only  accepts  as 
matter  of  revelation  that  which  man  has  no  power  to  discover 
for  himself.  Thus  it  leaves  full  scope  for  free  inquiry,  and  it 
will  never  tremble  before  the  advance  of  positive  science,  as 
though  each  stroke  of  the  scalpel  laying  bare  the  secrets  of 
nature,  dealt  it  a  mortal  wound.  We  hold  then  the  supremacy 
absolute  and  unquestionable  of  positive  science  in  its  own 
domain,  while  at  the  same  time  we  hold  that  religion  and 
metaphysics  have  lost  none  of  the  independence  which  belongs 
to  them  in  their  proper  sphere ;  and  thus  all  causes  of  conflict 
are  averted.2  The  famous  third  state,  to  which  both  the 
previous  states  are  to  give  place,  is  but  a  third  aspect  of  things, 
compatible  on  equal  terms  with  the  religious  and  the  meta- 
physical state. 

Yet  further,  these  three  great  functions  of  the  human  mind 
have  not  only  the  right  to  co-exist,  they  also  all  contribute, 
each  by  its  proper  methods  and  in  its  own  sphere  of  distinct 
aciim,  to  the  sum  of  human  knowledge.  We  have  shown 
thji*  religion  and  metaphysics  cannot  dispense  with  each  other, 

1  "  Conflict  between  Religion  and  Science."     Draper. 

2  See   M.    Charles   Secretan's   admirable   article   on    the    three   states 
("  Revue  Fhilosophique,"  March,   1881),  and  M.  Vacherot's  on  the  same 
subject  ("  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  August,  1880). 

C 


i8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

and  are  only  really  fruitful  in  union.  Positive  science,  over 
which  they  have  no  control,  so  far  from  awaking  their  fears 
and  scruples,  is  intended  to  reinforce  them.  The  science  of 
causes  is  closely  linked  to  that  of  effects,  and  is  obliged,  under 
penalty  of  losing  itself  in  mere  abstractions,  to  keep  itself  well 
informed  of  the  results  obtained  by  positive  science.  To 
explain  without  knowing,  is  not  to  explain  at  all.  If  meta- 
physics keeps  a  parallel  line  with  positive  science  so  that  the 
two  never  meet,  it  becomes  a  mere  abstraction — the  science  of 
quintessences,  and  the  ridicule  of  true  scientists.  On  the  other 
hand  it  gains  vastly  by  that  verification  and  classification  of 
natural  phenomena,  from  which  the  great  laws  of  nature  are 
logically  evolved.  When  through  the  researches  of  positive 
science,  the  perfection  of  the  Cosmos  is  brought,  as  it  were, 
before  our  very  eyes,  the  soul  is  uplifted  to  a  higher  perfect- 
ness,  the  reflection  of  which  it  has  caught  in  the  earthly  things. 
The  links  of  secondary  causes  which  the  observation  of  the 
scientist  discovers,  form  surely  but  one  end  of  that  chain  of 
first  and  final  causes  on  which  the  metaphysician  speculates, 
and  in  which  the  Christian  believes  and  worships. 

We  have  seen  that  positive  science  is  carried  above  itself  by 
the  idea  of  law  reduced  to  its  simplest  expression  and  regarded 
as  suggesting  the  invariable  sequence  of  cause  and  effect. 

The  part  taken  by  hypothesis  in  discovery  leads  to  the. 
same  conclusion,  as  has  been  ably  shown  by  M.  Claude  Bernard 
in  his  theory  of  experimental  science.  Hypothesis  is  that 
illumination  of  thought  which  anticipates  a  law  of  nature.  It 
flashes  upon  the  mind  as  the  result  of  some  preliminary  and 
inconclusive  experiment.  Hypothesis  would  be  impossible  if 
there  were  not  between  the  phenomena  of  nature  and  the  mind 
of  man  a  pre-established  harmony.  M.  Claude  Bernard  does 
not  hesitate  to  call  this  a  preconceived  idea,  and  this  implies 
an  a  priori  element.  In  his  "  Introduction  a  la  Medecine 
Experimentale  "  we  read  :  "  It  may  be  said  that  man  has  in  his 
mind  the  intuition  and  presentiment  of  the  laws  of  nature  with- 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  19 

out  knowing  their  form."  l  This  intuition  would  not  indeed 
suffice  to  establish  the  fact  apart  from  severe  scientific  inquiry ; 
but  the  mind  would  not  be  capable  of  such  an  anticipation  of 
facts  if  they  were  not  something  more  than  mere  experimen- 
tal phenomena,  and  if  there  were  not  in  him  something  antece- 
dent and  superior  to  mere  sensation.  Hypothesis  is  only  a  pre- 
liminary application  of  the  principle  of  causation.  From 
particular  facts  already  verified,  the  mind  argues  general  laws 
of  life,  a  higher  order  which  explains  the  lower,  as  says  Comte. 
Thus  positive  science  itself  attests  that  it  is  not  sufficient,  that 
there  are  other  aspects  of  things  and  that  these  are  not  un- 
important We  conclude  then,  in  opposition  to  the  theory  of 
the  three  states,  that  there  is  ample  scope  for  division  of 
labour  and  a  fundamental  harmony  between  religion,  meta- 
physics, and  positive  science.2 

The  only  concession  we  are  prepared  to  make  to  Comte's 
theory  is,  that  these  three  great  aspects  of  truth  have  been 
gradually  emerging  from  the  confusion  in  which  they  were  at 
first  involved  and  by  which  all  suffered.  It  is  very  clear  that, 
in  the  infancy  of  intellectual  development,  religion,  meta- 
physics, and  positive  science, — if  indeed  there  was  anything 
worthy  of  the  name  of  science, — were  indistinguishably  blended. 
Mythology  pretended  to  give  a  complete  explanation  of  the 
universe  by  "supposing  all  natural  phenomena  to  be  produced  by 
the  immediate  action  of  supernatural  beings."  The  sighing  of  the 
wind,  the  roar  of  ocean,  the  sunshine  scattering  night,  were  all 

1  Claude  Bernard.    ' '  Introduction  a  la  Medecine  Experimentale,"  pp.  266- 
269.    M.  Ernest  Naville,  in  his  book  entitled  "  La  Logique  de  1'IIypothese" 
(Germer  Bailliere,  1880),  treats  fully  this  subject,  on  which  we  can  onlv 
touch.     Not  only  is  the  importance  and  philosophical  significance  of  hypo- 
thesis in  aiding  scientific  discovery  fully  brought  out,  but  the  indispensable 
conditions  of  its  legitimate  use, — perseverance,  courage,  loyalty  to  truth, — 
are  cleaily  indicated.     See  also  M.  Caro's  book  "  Le  Materialisme  et  la 
Science"  (Hachette,  1867)  for  a  masterly  treatment  of  Claude  Bernard's 
assertions  about  hypothesis. 

2  See  on  this  subject  M.  Liard's  book,  "La  Science  et  la  Metaphysique," 
vol.  ii.,  chap.  I. 


20  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

so  many  divine  acts,  which  it  was  therefore  idle  to  try  to  explain 
by  natural  laws  and  secondary  causes.     This  was  the  age — 

"Oil  le  del  sur  la  terre 
Marchait  et  respirait  dans  un  peuple  de  dieux." 

Hesiod  deifies  the  great  cosmic  laws  as  he  conceived  them; 
and  the  very  palpable  darkness  of  their  origin  suggests  to  him 
a  goddess  impenetrably  veiled,  whom  he  calls  Eternal  Night. 
Ancient  philosophy  sought  to  disentangle  this  confusion  of 
primary  and  secondary  causes.  In  the  attempt  it  sometimes 
went  so  far  as  the  entire  suppression  of  primary  causes,  as  in 
the  Ionic  school  of  philosophy,  and  particularly  in  the 
Atomism  of  Democritus ;  and  thus  the  way  was  first  opened 
for  positive  science  to  assert  itself.  Hence  Lange,  in  his 
history  of  these  schools,  affirms  that  materialism  was  a  con- 
dition of  progress,  in  spite  of  its  exclusiveness  which  led  it 
ultimately  into  the  grossest  errors.  He  acknowledges  never- 
theless, that  the  great  impulse  to  scientific  research  came  from 
those  very  metaphysicians  of  whom  he  complains  that  they  led 
positive  science  away  from  its  lawful  domain.  Speaking  of  what 
he  calls  "this  exaltation  on  the  wings  of  imaginative  specula- 
tion," he  says  :  "  We  shall  attach  to  it  a  high  importance  when 
we  see  how  the  free  play  of  spirit  which  is  involved  in  the 
search  after  the  One  and  the  Eternal  in  the  change  of  earthly 
things,  reacts  with  a  vitalising  and  freshening  influence  upon 
whole  generations,  and  often  indirectly  affords  a  new  impulse 
even  to  scientific  research.  .  .  .  The  religious  and  moral 
principle  from  which  Plato  and  Socrates  started,  guided  the 
great  speculative  movement  to  a  determined  goal,  and  made 
i  t  capable  of  affording  a  deep  content  and  a  noble  character  of 
completeness  to  the  moral  efforts  and  struggles  of  thousands 
of  years.  .  .  .  And  even  to-day  the  Ideal  theory,  which  we 
are  obliged  to  banish  from  the  field  of  science,  may  by  its  ethical 
and  aesthetic  content,  become  a  source  of  plentiful  blessings."1 

1  "History  of  Materialism,"  F.  A.  Lange,  vol.  i.,  pp.  79,  80. 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  21 

In  the  Middle  Ages  the  early  confusion  reappeared  in  many 
forms  in  Christian  scholasticism.  Bacon  initiated  a  reaction 
similar  to  that  of  the  lonians  and  the  Naturalists  of  the  school 
of  Epicurus.  This  reaction  was  exaggerated,  like  all  move- 
ments of  the  kind,  but  it  paved  the  way  for  the  distinction 
between  religion,  metaphysics,  and  positive  science.  The 
division  of  the  labour  of  inquiry  enabled  scholars  to  work  each 
in  his  separate  department,  without  any  attempt  to  monopolise 
the  whole  field. 

This  distinction  and  division  of  labour  is  an  essential  element 
of  progress.  The  Positivism  which  ignores  it  and  is  unwilling 
to  recognise  any  domain  but  its  own  (while  forced  to  admit 
its  incompleteness),  is  a  retrogressive  movement.  It  tends  to 
clip  the  wings  of  inquiry ;  but  this  mutilation  is  so  contrary 
to  nature,  that  the  school  which  pledged  itself  to  accept  no- 
thing but  positive  facts  ends  by  founding  a  religion.  There  is 
indeed,  as  we  know,  a  schism  on  this  point  among  the  disciples 
of  Comte.  But  it  is  none  the  less  remarkable  that  the  master 
himself  should  have  developed  the  strange,  mysticism  which 
characterises  his  later  writings,  and  should  have  instituted  a 
worship  which  has  never  lacked  devotees.  His  paper  "  Sur  1'En- 
semble  du  Positivisme,"  published  in  1848,  does  not  indicate 
any  failure  of  power  in  the  author  of  the  Positive  philosophy.1 
His  great  mind  seems  perfectly  calm  and  self-possessed.  He 
had  no  doubt  received  a  shock,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  an 
impulse,  from  the  great  events  which  had  shown  the  frailty  of 
monarchical  institutions  and  opened  a  broad  highway  for  trium- 
phant democracy.  It  is  this  triumph  which  is  absorbing  his 
thoughts.  He  sees  that  this  democracy  will  want  a  guiding 
principle  to  take  the  place  of  the  dethroned  authorities  and 
powers.  He  recognises  that  this  principle  must  be  something 
more  than  a  mere  scientific  method,  that  it  will  only  be 

1  "Discours  sur  TEnsemble  du  Positivisme,  ou  Exposition  Sommaire  de 
la  Doctrine  Philosophique  propre  a  la  graude  Republique  Occidental. " 
Paris,  1848. 


22  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

effectual  if  it  appeals  to  the  heart  as  well  as  the  intellect,  and  so 
enlists  the  emotional  nature.  How  is  such  moral  suasion  to 
be  educed  from  the  mere  contemplation  and  classification  of 
natural  phenomena?  It  is  not  enough  to  strike  the  barren 
rock  to  make  the  living  waters  flow.  Thus  Comte  is  con- 
strained to  leave  behind  his  own  premisses.  In  spite  of  his 
efforts  not  to  go  beyond  his  system,  he  draws  largely  on  that 
early  state  of  the  human  mind  which  he  had  contemptuously 
relegated  to  the  ignorant  infancy  of  the  race.  He  imagined 
indeed  that  he  had  completely  escaped  so  humiliating  an  ad- 
mission by  making  humanity,  and  not  the  transcendental  deities 
of  the  past,  the  object  of  worship.  Humanity  is  everywhere 
represented  as  the  only  truly  Great  Being,  of  which  we  are  the 
necessary  members.  To  this  great  Humanity  all  the  aspects 
of  our  individual  and  collective  life  are  henceforth  to  have 
regard;  our  intellect  is  to  contemplate  it;  our  affections  to 
cling  around  it ;  our  actions  to  serve  it.  This  is  a  stage  far 
removed  indeed  from  the  positive,  and  closely  akin  to  that 
theological  state,  the  great  feature  of  which  was  the  arbitrary 
personification  of  causes.  We  had  been  told  that  the  fetish- 
worshipper,  like  the  worshipper  of  Jehovah,  went  beyond 
positive  facts,  infusing  into  them  a  soul,  a  principle,  a  mys- 
terious power,  which  was  their  first  and  final  cause.  Religion, 
we  were  told,  tends  always  to  bring  down  the  Divine  into  the 
earthly;  it  is  not  content  with  a  transcendent,  it  seeks  an 
indwelling  deity;  its  great  fallacy  consists  in  this,  that  it  couples 
with  the  positive  facts  which  belong  to  experience,  a  mysterious 
force  eluding  observation. 

In  what,  we  ask,  does  the  Great  Being  of  Comte  himself  differ 
from  these  entities,  whether  religious  or  metaphysical,  which 
he  has  sought  to  banish  from  the  field  of  science  ?  Our  own 
observation  enables  us  to  verify  the  existence  of  individuals 
and  aggregates  of  individuals  who  have  entered  into  certain 
relations  or  social  organisations  ;  but  where  has  positive  science 
found  a  Great  Being  called  Humanity — a  Being  vast  and  eternal, 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  23 

to  use  Comte's  own  description,  composed  even  more  of  the 
dead  than  of  the  living,  and  who  lives  again  in  each  one  of  us  ? 
So  large  a  generalisation,  attaining  such  a  degree  of  reality 
that  it  becomes  an  object  of  worship,  cannot  be  simply  the 
sum  total  resulting  from  the  addition  of  particular  phenomena. 
It  is  more  empirical  even  than  those  graceful  divinities  of  Greek 
polytheism,  which  were  but  the  simple  idealisation  of  known 
realities.  Let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  Comte  asserts  that  we 
are  necessary  members  of  this  Great  Being.  It  must  then  have 
preceded  and  in  some  way  produced  us.  It  stands  to  us  in 
the  relation  of  a  first  cause,  while  it  is  at  the  same  time  an 
end,  since  we  are  bidden  not  only  to  contemplate  but  to  love 
and  even  to  serve  it.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  it  lives  again 
in  every  man,  for  thus  it  appears  only  in  a  partial  and  disinte- 
grated form  ;  and  it  is  the  great  whole,  the  complete  integration, 
which  is  to  be  the  object  of  our  adoration.  We  can  attain  to 
it  only  by  the  power  of  thought.  We  must  go  beyond  the 
relative  and  the  particular  and  take  our  flight  to  the  loftiest 
generalisation  :  and  this  somehow  bears  a  strange  resemblance 
to  the  Absolute.  The  cause,  the  end,  the  Absolute, — here 
surely  we  have  all  the  characters  of  a  religion.  I  am  aware  that 
Comte  asserts  that  in  this  adoration  of  the  great  whole,  there  is 
nothing  more  than  the  application  of  the  element  of  sociability. 
That  element,  he  tells  us,  proceeds  logically  from  the  sub- 
ordination of  the  subject  to  the  object ;  the  mind,  finding 
its  own  laws  in  nature,  will  simply  submit  to  that  immutable 
necessity  which  forbids  us  to  isolate  ourselves,  and  compels  us 
to  submit  to  the  conditions  of  universal  existence  around  us. 
But  sociability  is  something  quite  apart  from  this  subordination, 
for  we  have  no  such  sentiment  towards  the  outer  world  on 
which  we  are  in  so  many  ways  dependent.  The  sociability 
which  our  kind  inspires  in  us,  arises  out  of  our  moral  affinity 
with  them.  It  does  not  proceed  from  the  simple  law  of  subor- 
dination, but  from  the  sympathy  and  affection  they  inspire  in 
us,  in  an  altogether  special  way,  such  as  we  do  not  experience 


24  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

towards  any  other  beings.  This  Comte  himself  fully  recognises, 
hence  the  importance  which  he  attaches  to  the  emotional  side 
of  our  nature,  the  heart,  the  source  of  all  noble  impulses  and 
fruitful  affections.  Hence  the  important  part  which  he  assigns, 
in  his  social  reorganisation,  to  woman,  whom  he  almost  deifies, 
and  after  her  to  the  common  people,  as  more  susceptible  than 
other  classes  to  the  intuitions  of  affection.  All  is  to  run 
smoothly  in  the  new  society  when,  this  pre-eminence  of  woman 
and  of  the  common  people  being  duly  recognised,  it  has  once 
inaugurated  a  purely  industrial  and  productive  regime,  under 
the  leadership  of  the  ten  thousand  savans  whom  it  is  to  love 
and  cherish  as  its  mandarins  and  spiritual  chiefs. 

We  do  not  dwell  upon  these  Utopian  visions,  because  no  one 
in  our  day  concerns  himself  about  the  worship  of  the  Great 
Being,  with  its  brilliant  fetes  and  motley  calendar  crowned  by 
the  apotheosis  of  woman.  We  can  only  smile  at  this  counterfeit 
of  Middle-Age  Catholicism,  which,  by  the  way,  Comte  regards 
as  the  least  senseless  of  the  follies  of  the  past.  We  only  advert 
to  his  conception  of  the  Great  Being  and  the  mystical  fervour 
it  enkindled  in  him,  as  proof  furnished  by  himself  that  his 
system  failed  to  satisfy  him.  We  are  not  among  those  who 
jeer  at  these  strange  inconsistencies.  We  look  at  them  rather 
as  the  Nemesis  of  those  indestructible  elements  of  human 
nature  which  Comte  sought  arbitrarily  to  eliminate,  and  which 
thus  assert  themselves  as  the  immortal  part  of  man. 

We  are  bound  to  say  that  M.  Littre,  who  so  justly  com- 
mands our  respect  by  his  elevation  of  character  and  nobility 
of  life,  has  unhesitatingly  repudiated  the  mysticism  of  his 
master,  Comte.  He  has  even  gone  so  far  in  his  reaction 
against  this  tendency,  so  repugnant  to  his  logical  mind, 
as  to  deny  the  very  existence  of  that  region  of  the  Un- 
knowable, which  Positivism  is  obliged  by  its  very  funda- 
mental principle  at  once  to  maintain  and  to  ignore.  Since, 
in  this  system,  the  attempt  to  explain  anything  is  strictly 
interdicted,  the  existence  of  a  First  Cause  can  neither  be 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  25 

affirmed  nor  denied  by  it.  Negation  would  be  explanation; 
materialistic  atomism  is  metaphysics.  In  ordei  to  appreciate 
this  inconsistency  of  the  illustrious  writer,  we  have  only  to 
refer  to  his  argument  with  Stuart  Mill  on  this  very  question  of 
the  Unknowable.  "  If  the  universe  had  a  beginning,"  says  Mr. 
Mill,  "  its  beginning,  by  the  very  conditions  of  the  case,  was 
supernatural ;  the  laws  of  nature  cannot  account  for  their  own 
origin.  The  Positivist  philosopher  is  free  to  form  his  opinion 
on  the  subject,  according  to  the  weight  he  attaches  to  the 
analogies  which  are  called  marks  of  design,  and  to  the  general 
traditions  of  the  human  race." l  M.  Littre  energetically 
combats  the  idea  that  Positivism  should  make  any  concession 
to  the  idea  of  finality  conveyed  in  the  expression  marks  of 
design,  used  by  Stuart  Mill.  "  Positivist  philosophy,"  he  says, 
"  does  not  leave  us  free  to  think  what  we  please  about  first 
causes.  It  allows  us  absolutely  no  liberty  in  this  respect.  A 
man  cannot  serve  two  masters  at  once,  the  relative  and  the 
absolute.  To  conceive  of  knowledge  in  a  region  which 
philosophical  principles  assign  to  the  unknown,  is  not  to 
harmonise  differences,  but  to  bring  together  incompatibilities."  2 
To  interdict  Positive  philosophy  from  even  admitting  the 
possibility  of  a  First  Cause  in  the  region  of  the  unknown,  as 
M.  Littre  does,  is  to  abandon  the  position  of  complete 
neutrality  which  he  had  claimed.  If  Positive  philosophy  is 
really  bounded  by  the  phenomenal  in  nature,  then  it  can  have 
no  interdict  to  lay  upon  hypotheses  affecting  anything  beyond 
those  limits.  Suppositions  and  presumptions  are  free,  pro- 
vided they  are  not  treated  as  certainties,  which  the  fundamen- 
tal principle  of  the  school  forbids.  To  object  to  the  very  ad- 
mission of  the  possibility  of  an  intelligent  First  Cause,  amounts 
to  denying  its  existence  ;  and  if  the  denial  can  be  justified,  the 
question  has  passed  out  of  the  region  of  the  unknown.  To 
speak  of  ignorance  in  such  a  case,  is  an  abuse  of  language, 

1  Stuart  Mill.      "  Auguste  Comte  and  Positivism,"  pp.  14,  15. 
'  Littre.     "Fragments  de  Philosophic  Positive,"  p.  284. 


26  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

for  he  who  is  entirely  ignorant  cannot  have  a  presumption  for 
or  against  any  one  of  the  possible  suppositions.  So  far  M. 
Littre  is  right,  in  opposition  to  Mr.  Mill  and  Mr.  Spencer. 
Neutrality  on  such  a  subject  demands  an  equilibrium  which  is 
impossible. 

Thus  Positivism  has  sometimes  risen  above  itself,  as  we  have 
seen  in  the  case  of  Comte — the  founder  of  the  humanitarian 
religion — and  sometimes  has  drifted  into  pure  materialism.  It 
is  to  this  side  that  M.  Littre's  logic  inclines.  To  say,  as  he 
says,  that  the  view  of  the  material  shuts  out  the  view  of  the  spi- 
ritual, amounts  to  denying  the  spiritual.  And  yet  he  does  not 
succeed  altogether,  for  we  can  trace  in  his  writings  more  than 
one  of  those  happy  inconsistencies  which  attest  the  imperish- 
able aspiration  of  the  soul.  In  the  "  Paroles  d'un  Disciple,"  that 
beautiful  introduction  to  the  course  of  Positive  philosophy,  he 
speaks  in  almost  devotional  tones  of  the  infinity  which  lies 
beyond  us :  "  That  which  goes  beyond  positive  knowledge, 
whether  in  the  material  world — the  boundless  realms  of  space, 
or  in  the  intellectual — the  endless  concatenation  of  causes — is 
inaccessible  to  the  mind  of  man.  But  inaccessible  does  not 
mean  null  and  void.  Infinity,  both  material  and  intellectual,  is 
closely  linked  to  our  knowledge,  and  becomes  by  this  alliance 
a  positive  idea  and  of  the  same  order ;  I  mean,  that,  as  we 
approach  it  and  touch  it,  this  infinity  appears  to  us  -under  its 
two-fold  aspect— the  real  and  the  unfathomable.  It  is  an 
ocean  which  comes  breaking  on  our  shore,  for  which  we  have 
neither  bark  nor  sail,  but  the  clear  vision  of  which  is  as  salutary 
as  it  is  terrible  to  us.  The  feeling  of  an  infinite  expanse  in 
which  all  things  float,  has  been  gradually  taking  possession  of 
men's  minds,  since  astronomy  gave  a  real  form  to  the  vasty 
deep,  and  changed  the  sky  into  a  boundless  space  peopled  with 
countless  worlds.  It  is  this  feeling  which  has  ever  since  given 
the  tone  to  the  human  mind,  inspiring  the  imagination,  and 
finding  utterance  in  the  grandest  raptures  of  modern  poetry.  It 
is  a  new  spiritual  phase  for  man  to  see  himself  surrounded  by 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  27 

the  vastness  of  space,  of  time,  of  multiform  life,  without  any 
other  master,  any  other  safeguard,  any  other  strength  than  the 
mere  laws  which  govern  the  universe.  Nothing  is  so  elevating 
to  the  soul  as  this  contemplation.  All  that  has  been  done, 
and  that  is  being  done,  of  great  and  good  in  our  modern  era, 
has  its  root  in  the  growing  love  of  humanity,  and  in  the 
conception  that  man  forms  of  his  place  in  the  universe." l 

This  is  a  stage  far  removed  indeed  from  that  simple 
observation  of  phenomena  which  stirs  none  of  these  sublime 
emotions ;  for  the  sublime  is  born  of  the  intuition  of  the 
infinite,  and  not  of  a  mere  widening  of  the  horizon  of  visible 
and  sensible  things.  I  know  that  M.  Littre'  asserts  that  all 
that  is  grandest  in  the  emotion  thus  excited,  is  derived  from 
the  fact  that  man  is  in  the  presence  of  an  infinite  devoid  of 
God — the  boundless  realm  of  nature;  but  who  can  fail  to  feel 
that  there  is  religion  in  the  deep  sentiment  which  expresses 
itself  in  such  strong  poetry,  that  it  is  but  an  echo  of  Pascal's 
words  :  "Limmensite  des  espaces  infinis  m'etonne  et  me  confond" 
Strange,  that  man  is  so  essentially  a  religious  being  that  he 
makes  a  sort  of  religion  out  of  irreligion  itself,  and  imparts  to 
it  an  element  of -the  infinite  derived  from  the  indestructible 
instinct  of  his  own  nature.  To  use  M.  Littre"'s  figure,  the 
ocean  of  immensity  would  break  in  vain  upon  the  shore  of 
humanity,  if  man  were  but  as  a  grain  of  sand  ;  it  would  have 
no  power  to  touch  him  if  the  voice  of  the  infinite  had  not 
already  spoken  in  the  depth  of  his  soul.  Man  is  like  the  tiny 
shell  which  seems  to  hold  imprisoned  within  it  the  roar  of  the 
mighty  ocean.  We  only  need  to  bend  our  ear  to  listen,  and 
we  catch  distinctly  the  echo  of  infinity. 

It  will  be  no  departure  from  the  severe  conditions  of  a 
grave  discussion,  to  show  by  an  indisputable  example,  that 
Positivism  finds  it  impossible  to  restrict  itself  within  its  own 
prescribed  limits.  There  has  lived  in  our  day  a  young  scholar, 
too  early  snatched  away  from  a  promising  career  of  science, 
1  "  Auguste  Comte  et  la  Philosophic  Positive."  M.  Littre. 


28  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

who  had  accepted  the  principle  of  the  Positivist  school  in  all 
its  severity.  He  believed  that  positive  science  was  the  one 
aspect  of  the  universe.  A  sincere  and  earnest  student,  devoted 
to  the  search  after  truth,  he  soon  discovered  not  only  that  this 
science  did  not  respond  to  all  the  legitimate  aspirations  of  his 
being,  but  also  that  it  did  not  suffice  for  itself.  M.  Leveque, 
in  his  beautiful  introduction  to  M.  Papillon's  posthumous  work, 
"L'Histoire  de  la  Philosophic  Moderne  dans  son  Rapport 
avec  le  Developpement  des  Sciences  de  la  Nature,"  gives  the 
intellectual  and  spiritual  history  of  this  young  scholar.  He 
had  felt  the  full  fascination  of  the  splendid  advance  of  con- 
temporary science,  and  he  started  with  the  most  absolute 
exclusivism,  and  the  elimination  of  everything  which  was 
not  positive  science.  His  road  to  Damascus  was  this  very 
pursuit  of  free  scientific  inquiry.  He  felt  as  he  went  on,  that 
man  has  other  faculties  than  pure  reason,  which  demand  to  be 
fed.  He  came  to  recognise  that  even  knowledge  itself  catches 
as  it  ascends  a  glory  from  heights  above  those  of  scientific 
observation.  "  Let  the  empirics  and  the  utilitarians  say  what 
they  will,"  he  writes  shortly  before  his  death,  "there  are  certain- 
ties outside  the  experimental  method,  and  paths  of  progress 
that  outlie  its  most  brilliant  and  beneficent  applications.  The 
human  mind  can  employ  its  energies,  work  in  accord  with 
reason,  and  discover  real  truth  in  a  sphere  as  much  higher 
than  that  of  laboratories  and  workshops,  as  this  is  higher  than 
the  region  of  the  commonest  acts  of  life.  In  short,  there  is  a 
temple  of  light,  the  doors  of  which  are  not  opened  to  the  soul 
either  by  mathematical  or  natural  science,  and  into  which 
nevertheless,  the  soul  which  has  not  lost  the  consciousness  of 
its  ancient  prerogatives,  may  safely  and  rightly  look."1 

M.  Papillon  is  an  illustration  of  the  incompetence  of 
Positivism  to  keep  the  mind  enthralled  within  the  narrow 

1  "Histoire  de  la  Philosophic  Moderne  dans  son  Rapport  avec  les 
Sciences  de  la  Nature.''  Ouvrage  posthumede  Ferdinand  Papillon.  Intro- 
duction, p.  20  (Paris  :  Hachette,  1876). 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  POSITIVISM.  29 

circle  of  mere  observation  of  facts.  How  can  we  wonder  at 
this,  when  we  have  seen  that  the  founders  of  the  system  them- 
selves, the  very  men  who  have  laboured  to  construct  this  iron 
cage  for  the  intellect  of  their  age,  have  been  the  very  first  to 
break  through  its  bars  ? 

To  conclude,  we  hold  that  Positivism  is  not  justified  either 
by  history  or  by  the  facts  of  present  experience.  Starting  with 
a  disavowal  of  the  principle  of  causation,  which  is  the  very 
foundation  of  all  reasoning,  and  which  ought  at  least  to  be 
recognised  in  the  category  of  established  facts,  it  has  seen  its 
theory  of  the  three  states  belied  in  the  past,  by  the  permanent 
coexistence  of  theology,  metaphysics,  and  science ;  and  in  the 
present  (which  ought  to  be  the  exclusive  age  of  Positivism), 
by  the  new  and  eager  impulse  given  to  philosophic  and 
religious  thought.  It  has  mistaken  for  three  successive  and 
incompatible  states  of  the  human  mind,  three  aspects  of 
things,  which  may  be  usefully  distinguished  but  not  separated 
from  each  other,  since  they  are  mutually  complementary. 
Neither  religion  nor  metaphysics  can  dispense  with  positive 
science,  while  on  the  other  hand  positive  science  is  not  self- 
sufficing,  since,  in  formulating  the  simplest  laws  which  extend 
beyond  single  phenomena,  something  more  is  implied  than  the 
results  of  mere  sensation  and  positive  observation.  Hypothesis 
which  suggests  experiment,  is  a  light  coming  from  within,  not 
from  without.  The  progress  of  knowledge  consists  in  dis- 
entangling it  from  its  original  confusion,  and  dividing  the  work 
to  be  done  between  religion,  metaphysics,  and  positive  science, 
while  preserving  their  independence  and  necessary  relations. 
Positivism  has  not  been  able  rigidly  to  adhere  to  its  principles; 
it  has  encountered  a  twofold  difficulty.  Sometimes  it  has  been 
raised  above  itself  under  the  imperious  influence  of  the  higher 
needs  inherent  in  humanity,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  case  of 
Auguste  Comte  himself,  who  ended  by  founding  a  humanitarian 
religion  altogether  out  of  harmony  with  his  own  premisses  ; 
sometimes  it  has  inclined  to  pure  materialism,  and  has  denied 


30  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

altogether  the  existence  of  the  Unknowable,  which,  in  fidelity 
to  its  own  principles,  it  is  bound  to  admit 

Other  systems,  based  on  the  same  doctrine,  have  diverged 
also  in  both  these  directions,  so  that  positive  science  presents 
a  line  deflected  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left.  This  re- 
ductio  ad  absurdum  is  simply  the  refutation  by  history  of 
the  changing  theories  by  which  the  mind  of  man  has  sought  to 
solve  the  problem  of  the  universe.  So  strong  is  the  instinct 
of  the  true  within  him,  that  no  error  can  stand  before  it;  every 
doctrine,  as  it  develops  itself,  discloses  whatever  is  false  and 
incomplete  in  it.  It  is  sure  to  arrive  sooner  or  later  at  some 
crucial  result  which  brings  to  light  its  defectiveness.  The 
school  which  arises  in  its  stead,  makes  it  its  special  object  to 
bring  into  prominence  this  latent  inconsistency  of  its  prede- 
cessor, and  to  push  it  to  its  furthest  issues,  till,  in  its  zealous 
refutation,  it  also  falls  into  error,  and  is  in  its  turn  refuted  and 
superseded.  Thus,  every  error  becomes  the  starting-point  for 
a  new  victory.  We  may  then  have  full  confidence  in  the 
human  mind,  and  in  its  spontaneous  logic;  it  is  ever  eager 
to  overturn  its  own  idols  and  bring  to  light  their  feet  of  clay. 
The  history  of  thought  has  its  Nemesis,  like  the  history  of 
the  passions,  and  this  Nemesis  is  reason  itself,  obeying  its 
own  laws.1 

1  See  two  articles  by  M.  Caro,  "  La  Philosophic  Positive,  ses  Transfor- 
mations, son  Avenir,"  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  April  I5th,  May  1st, 
1882. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PROBLEM   OF  KNOWLEDGE   AND    THE   NEW  PSY- 
CHOLOGY IN  ENGLAND,  FKANCE,  AND  GERMANY. 

POSITIVISM  professes  to  limit  its  researches  to  the  verification 
of  facts  and  their  immediate  order  of  succession.  When 
science  has  accepted  and  classified  them,  it  has  done  its  work. 
First  and  final  causes  lie  so  completely  beyond  its  range  that 
it  is  not  entitled  even  to  deny  them,  since  the  negation  of 
these  higher  causes  would  be  virtually  an  affirmation  that  the 
causes  of  being  are  inherent  in  the  phenomenal  world  itself, 
and  would  thus  be  a  reply  to  the  question  which  science  is 
forbidden  to  ask.  We  have  seen  Positivism  carrying  its 
principles  so  far  as  to  eliminate  psychology  from  the  domain 
of  science,  on  the  ground  that  the  subject  ought  always  to  be 
subordinated  to  the  object,  the  mind  to  the  Cosmos,  in  order 
that  we  may  keep  within  the  pale  of  certainties.  We  have 
come  to  the  conclusion,  therefore,  that  Positivism  is  shown,  alike 
by  history  and  by  reason,  to  be  untenable  and  doomed  to  fall, 
as  divided  against  itself. 

Another  school  arising  out  of  it  has  endeavoured  to  rectify 
or  to  supplement  it,  by  explaining  the  origin  of  what  we  call 
the  a  priori — the  indestructible  basis  of  the  intellect  in  man, 
the  laws,  categories,  and  principles  of  thought,  commencing 
with  the  most  universal  and  powerful  of  all — the  principle  of 
causation.  This  school,  in  carrying  out  its  programme,  has 
been  constrained  to  deal  with  psychology,  since  it  proposes 
to  prove  by  a  subtle  analysis,  that  the  mind  of  man  does  not 
possess  inherently  the  element  which  seems  intuitive,  but 

81 


32  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

derives  it  purely  from  sensation.  It  is  not  content  therefore 
with  prohibiting  the  inquiry  into  causes ;  it  pretends  to  prove 
that  there  are  no  causes,  that  the  principle  of  causation  is  only 
a  generalisation  of  sensation  derived  from  its  frequency  and 
regularity.  We  shall  follow  the  developments  of  this  school 
first  in  England,  in  its  two  cognate  branches,  I  mean  in 
the  theory  of  association,  which  Stuart  Mill  has  developed 
with  such  a  wealth  of  observation,  and  in  that  of  transforma- 
tion, which  Herbert  Spencer  has  carried  to  its  fullest  issues. 
Germany  exhibits  an  analogous  tendency  in  the  new  philo- 
sophy which  asserts  (strange  to  say,  not  in  irony)  that  it  has 
founded  a  psychology  without  assuming  the  soul.  Lastly,  M. 
Taine  advances  the  same  theory  in  his  own  brilliant  and 
piquant  style.  To  him  psychology  seems  nothing  more  than 
a  show  of  Chinese  shadows;  though  we  fail  to  discover  any 
trace  of  a  substantial  screen  on  which  to  project  them. 


I.    ENGLISH  PSYCHOLOGY. — THE  THEORY  OF  KNOWLEDGE 

ACCORDING   TO    STUART    MlLL   AND    HERBERT    SPENCER. 

i.  STUART  MILL. 

It  is  in  his  work  on  Sir  William  Hamilton's  philosophy  that 
Stuart  Mill  first  formulates  his  theory  of  the  association  of 
ideas,  which  he  holds  to  be  the  key  to  the  psychological 
problem.  By  means  of  it  he  professes  to  make  the  mind  of 
man  a  complete  void,  tracing  back  to  combinations  of  sen- 
sation all  that  appears  to  us  fundamental  or  axiomatic. 

Before  presenting  his  views  on  this  capital  point,  we  wish 
to  call  attention  to  a  flagrant  contradiction  in  his  system  which 
we  find  also  in  that  of  Herbert  Spencer.  Stuart  Mill  has 
affirmed,  even  more  emphatically  than  the  Positivist  school, 
the  existence  of  that  great  region  of  the  Unknowable  which 
eludes  research.  We  have  seen  that  M.  Littre  was  ready  to 
accuse  him  of  mysticism  for  having  expressly  reserved  to 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  33 

religion,  or  at  least  to  the  mysterious  instinct  which  it  reveals, 
that  terra  incognita  in  which  we  are  free  to  suppose  anything, 
— even  the  existence  of  God, — provided  we  recognise  that 
it  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  science  :  "  The  positive 
mode  of  thought  is  not  necessarily  a  denial  of  the  supernatural, 
it  merely  throws  back  that  question  to  the  origin  of  all  things. 
.  .  .  Positive  philosophy  maintains  that  within  the  existing 
order  of  the  universe,  or  rather  of  the  part  known  to  us,  the 
direct  determining  cause  of  every  phenomenon  is  not  super- 
natural, but  natural.  It  is  compatible  with  this  to  believe  that 
the  universe  was  created,  and  even  that  it  is  continuously 
governed,  by  an  Intelligence,  provided  we  admit  that  the 
intelligent  Governor  adheres  to  fixed  laws."  l  Here  then  we 
have  the  possibility  of  the  Divine  and  the  supernatural  stated 
in  the  most  categorical  manner ;  and  yet  we  are  told  that  all 
our  ideas  come  from,  sensations  in  various  stages  of  com- 
bination and  association  !  How  are  we  to  harmonise  the 
possibility  of  the  Divine  with  a  theory  of  knowledge  which 
has  no  other  source  than  the  senses  ?  These  can  never  give 
even  the  vaguest  intuition  of  the  Divine — of  what  Stuart  Mill 
justly  calls  the  supernatural.  Matter  can  only  give  the 
material  element,  the  transitory  and  inferior.  We  have  before 
us  these  two  alternatives :  either  the  Divine  and  supernatural 
should  be  denied,  even  as  bare  possibilities ;  or  the  theory 
that  all  knowledge  is  derived  from  sensation  is  inadequate 
and  fails  to  set  aside  the  a  priori 'in  man.  No  dialectic  artifice 
can  avail  to  cover  this  contradiction,  which  is  even  more  pal- 
pable in  the  later  works  of  this  great  thinker. 

In  Herbert  Spencer  we  find  the  same  inconsistency,  though 
he  assigns  a  larger  part  to  the  purely  mechanical  explanation 
of  things,  and  comprehends  the  theory  of  the  association  of 
ideas  in  that  of  evolution.  "  Life,"  he  says,  "  is  definable  as  the 
continuous  adjustment  of  internal  relations  to  external  relations. 
And  when  we  so  define  it,  we  discover  that  the  physical  and 
1  "  Auguste  Comte  and  Positivism,"  Stuart  Mill,  pp.  14,  15.* 

D 


34  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

the  psychical  life  are  equally  comprehended  by  the  definition. 
.  .  .  If  then  life  in  all  its  manifestations,  inclusive  of  intelli- 
gence, consists  in  the  continuous  adjustment  of  internal  relations 
to  external  relations,  the  necessarily  relative  character  of  our 
knowledge  becomes  obvious." 1 

The  unknowable  is  confounded  with  the  absolute.  "  We 
are  conscious  of  the  relative  as  existence  under  conditions 
and  limits ;  it  is  impossible  that  these  conditions  and  limits 
can  be  thought  of  apart  from  something  to  which  they  give 
the  form.  Consequently  there  must  be  a  residuary  conscious- 
ness of  something  which  filled  up  their  outlines ;  and  this 
indefinite  something  constitutes  our  consciousness  of  the  non- 
relative  or  absolute.  Impossible  though  it  is  to  give  to  this 
consciousness  any  qualitative  or  quantitative  expression  what- 
ever, it  is  not  the  less  certain  that  it  remains  with  us  as  a 
positive  and  indestructible  element  of  thought.  .  .  .  The 
momentum  of  thought  inevitably  carries  us  beyond  conditioned 
existence  to  unconditioned  existence ;  and  this  ever  persists 
in  us  as  the  body  of  a  thought  to  which  we  can  give  no 
shape."2 

We  know  that  Herbert  Spencer  reduces  the  unknowable 
and  the  absolute  to  a  thin  abstraction  which  "  transcends  not 
only  human  knowledge  but  human  conception,"  while  he 
leaves  us  free  to  admit  a  mode  of  existence  as  much  above 
the  will  and  the  reason  as  these  are  above  mere  mechanical 
movement.  But  this  higher  mode  of  existence,  beyond  the 
relative  and  the  experimental,  is  after  all  but  a  vain  show, 
if  the  theory  of  mechanical  evolution,  as  expounded  by 
Herbert  Spencer,  is  true  ;  for  we  find  that  it  explains  every- 
thing within  and  around  man,  leaving  no  place  anywhere 
for  anything  but  mechanical  force — no  nook  or  cranny  in 
the  mind  for  any  other  element ;  so  that  neither  in  the  object 
nor  the  subject  is  there  room  for  the  unknowable  or  the 

1  "  First  Principles,"  Herbert  Spencer,  pp.  84,  85. 

2  Jbid.t  pp.  91-93. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  35 

absolute ;  everything  is  known  and  explained,  everything  is 
material  and  relative.  In  fact,  the  subject  has  no  real  exist- 
ence; he  is  only  the  object  modified  according  to  the  invariable 
law  of  the  persistence  of  force.  There  are  but  two  alterna- 
tives then :  either  to  renounce  the  unknowable,  the  absolute, 
or  to  shatter  the  narrow  mould  of  universal  mechanism.  It 
follows  that  evolution  and  the  association  of  ideas  alike  fail  to 
explain  the  mind  of  man  We  are  sure  then,  before  examining 
them  in  detail,  that  these  two  theories  are  inadequate,  since 
they  conflict  with  one  of  the  most  positive  facts  verified  by 
themselves,  namely  the  presence  in  the  mind  of  that  element 
of  the  unknowable,  the  absolute,  which  the  very  conception  of 
the  relative  carries  with  it  by  an  association  of  ideas  amount- 
ing in  this  instance  to  a  law. 

If  we  now  look  at  these  two  theories  in  themselves,  setting 
aside  the  notion  of  the  unknowable  and  the  absolute,  which 
they  have  nevertheless  failed  to  shake  off,  we  shall  find  them 
equally  inadequate  to  explain  mere  intellectual  phenomena. 

Stuart  Mill  had  been  anticipated  in  his  theory  of  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas  by  a  philosopher  of  the  eighteenth  century,  whom 
he  has  only  supplemented — David  Hume.  Hume  also  en- 
deavoured, by  analysing  the  complex  and  combination  of 
sensations,  to  arrive  at  the  "original  furniture  of  the  mind." 
He  devoted  himself  especially  to  the  principle  of  causation, 
"that  bulwark  of  the  intuitive  school,"  as  Stuart  Mill  has 
well  called  it.  According  to  Hume,  we  have  come  to  seek 
the  causes  of  all  phenomena,  through  an  inveterate  habit  of 
mind  resulting  from  the  frequent  succession  of  our  impres- 
sions.1 It  is  from  the  simple  fact  of  succession  that  we 
have  risen  gradually  to  the  idea  of  causation.  By  repeatedly 
verifying  the  post  hoc,  we  have  come  little  by  little  to  the 
propter  hoc.  Succession  has  become  to  us  a  cause,  owing  to 
the  intensity  and  repetition  of  the  accompanying  sensations. 
Imagination  has  perpetuated  the  effect  of  these  sensations  and 
1  "  Treatise  on  Human  Nature."  David  Hume. 


36  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

given  them  a  certain  duration.  Hence  we  have  drawn  the  law 
of  induction  which  transfers  to  the  future  the  order  of  succes- 
sion verified  in  the  past.  This  is  a  mere  intellectual  habit, 
founded  upon  experiences  which  have  assumed  the  character 
of  necessity.  These  sensations,  retained  in  the  mind  in  their 
accidental  succession  (which  yet  from  its  frequency  appears 
to  us  constant),  have  given  us  the  idea  of  an  organised  world 
without  us.  We  have  thus  given  a  fictitious  identity  to  their 
common  or  persistent  elements,  and  so  have  arrived  at  the 
illusion  of  matter. 

By  a  like  process,  we  have  elaborated  theidea  of  self,  which 
is  the  resultant  of  the  elements  common  to  all  our  perceptions. 
This  personal  identity  is  only  a  sort  of  summation  of  experiences 
bearing  a  close  resemblance  to  each  other.  Hume  made  faith 
in  God  the  crowning  point  of  his  otherwise  absolute  scepti- 
cism, as  though  to  keep  right  with  the  reigning  beliefs  and 
perhaps  with  his  own  aspirations  also. 

We  shall  not  stay  to  refute  Hume,  because  it  will  be  more 
satisfactory  to  deal  with  his  system  in  its  perfected  form.  We 
will  merely  object  here,  that  he  has  not  anywhere  explained  the 
primary  fact  of  the  impression  which  is  the  pivot  of  his  system ; 
for  in  order  that  a  sensation  may  be  produced,  it  is  necessary 
that  the  object  exciting  it  should  impress  itself  upon  the  sub- 
ject receiving  it.  Hume  leaves  this  primary  fact  suspended  as 
it  were  in  vacuo,  without  telling  us  to  what  it  relates,  since  he 
has  no  account  to  give  of  the  organism  or  of  the  mind,  both 
of  these  vanishing  away  into  chimeras  of  the  imagination. 
He  has,  moreover,  never  shown  that  sense-impressions  are 
the  only  source  of  our  ideas,  for,  according  to  his  own  theory, 
the  idea  sometimes  precedes  the  impression.  By  making  in- 
duction a  purely  fortuitous  and  empirical  process,  he  takes  away 
from  it  all  certainty.1  The  other  objections  that  may  be  urged 
against  Hume,  on  the  ground  of  his  utter  failure  to  explain  this 
self,  which  he  declares  to  be  "  nothing  but  a  bundle  or  collec- 
1  See  Robert,  "Dc  la  Certitude,"  chap.  xii. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  37 

tion  of  different  perceptions,"  and  yet  which  is  accredited 
with  intellectual  power  sufficient  to  connect  impressions  and 
give  them  coherence,  will  come  before  us  in  the  discussion  of 
the  theory  of  the  association  of  ideas  in  our  own  day.  We 
have  already  said  that  Stuart  Mill  endeavours  to  explain  by 
sensation  alone  those  categories  or  forms  of  thought  which 
from  their  permanence  or  universality  appear  to  him  intuitive, 
and  which  seem  to  arise  within  our  own  minds  and  not  from 
without.  Such  is  the  principle  of  causation,  which  makes  us 
always  connect  together  consequences  and  antecedents.  The 
idea  of  a  substance  which  underlies  all  attributes,  is  not  less 
innate  and  has  all  the  marks  of  intuition.  Again,  we  cannot 
help  associating  with  everything  a  certain  place  in  time  or 
space.  Lastly,  we  are  conscious  of  the  ego  and  the  non-ego. 
This  is  what  may  be  called  the  intellectual  d  priori.  We  shall 
speak  presently  of  the  moral  d  priori.  It  is  this  intuitive 
element  which  Stuart  Mill,  following  Hume,  seeks  to  disprove.1 
Not  satisfied  with  assigning  its  legitimate  share  in  our  know- 
ledge to  the  sensation  which  supplies  its  outward  material  and 
its  stimulus,  he  makes  sensation  the  one  source  of  all  know- 
ledge. According  to  him,  there  is  not  an  idea  or  a  principle 
which  is  not  explained  by  his  famous  theory  of  the  association 
of  ideas  which  are  themselves  the  simple  products  of  sensation. 
Ideas  associate  themselves  according  to  certain  fixed  laws, 
which  Stuart  Mill  endeavours  to  define.  These  laws  are  three. 
First:  "Similar  phenomena  tend  to  be  thought  of  together." 
Second  :  "  Phenomena  which  have  either  been  experienced  or 
conceived  in  close  contiguity  to  one  another,  tend  to  be  thought 
of  together.  The  contiguity  is  of  two  kinds  :  simultaneity  and 
immediate  succession."  Third  :  "  Associations  produced  by 
contiguity  become  more  certain  and  rapid  by  repetition.  When 
two  phenomena  have  been  very  often  experienced  in  conjunction, 
and  have  not  in  any  single  instance  occurred  separately,  either 
in  experience  or  in  thought,  there  is  produced  between  them 
1  "  Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy."  Stuart  Mill. 


33  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

what  has  been  called  inseparable  association." ]  The  disposition 
of  our  mind  to  associate  all  phenomena  with  causes,  is  a  mere 
habit  which  grows  out  of  this  constant  association  of  concomitant 
ideas.  Mr.  Mill  recognises  no  necessity  to  derive  the  principle 
of  causation  from  the  depths  of  his  own  nature ;  what  he  calls 
by  that  name  is  only  the  result  of  accumulated  experience. 
He  has  made  an  important  advance  in  his  own  evolution, 
when,  after  experiencing  certain  sensations,  he  has  prolonged 
them  by  the  force  of  memory  and  has  represented  to  himself 
their  continuation  by  the  imagination.  From  this  point  he  has 
no  longer  been  content  with  present  and  fugitive  sensations  ; 
he  has  formed  the  idea  of  possible  sensations.  These  possible 
sensations  at  once  assume  for  him  a  character  far  less  ephemeral 
than  present  sensation,  which  is  but  momentary.  They  present 
themselves  to  him  in  the  correlation  of  antecedents  and  con- 
sequents, and  he  regards  all  his  actual  sensations  as  subject 
to  the  same  law.  These  possible  sensations  have  thus  formed 
for  the  mind  a  sort  of  fixed  organism,  which  it  soon  comes 
to  regard  as  the  inexhaustible  and  constant  antecedent  of  its 
present  sensations.  By  referring  the  latter  to  the  former,  he 
comes  to  form  the  idea  of  a  resistant  substance  underlying 
the  fluctuations  of  present  sensations.  Thus  the  notion  of 
substance,  like  that  of  cause,  has  been  evolved  out  of  sense- 
experience  by  its  own  natural  operation,  without  any  pre- 
vious intuition.  The  fact  that  the  same  possible  experiences 
present  themselves  to  all  men,  has  invested  the  external  world 
with  a  character  of  reality  and  objectivity  which  has  given 
rise  in  the  mind  to  the  idea  of  corporeality  and  of  matter. 
The  idea  of  space  and  time  has  arisen  out  of  the  constantly 
repeated  experience,  that  we  can  always  suppose  a  point  beyond 
that  at  which  we  have  arrived,  a  moment  after  the  actual 
moment.  We  always  imagine  to  ourselves  other  points  beyond 
those  we  have  seen.  The  law  of  association  of  ideas  thus 

1  ''Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy,"  Stuart  Mill, 
pp.  225,  226. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  39 

gives  us  the  notions  of  the  infinite  and  of  space.  We  arrive 
at  the  consciousness  of  the  ego,  by  the  very  distinction  which 
we  spontaneously  make  between  the  possible  sensations,  which 
our  imagination  has  formed  into  an  organisation  external  to 
ourselves,  and  our  faculty  of  experiencing  the  sensations  of  the 
moment.  These  constitute  the  ego.  The  association  of  ideas 
constantly  recalls  this  opposition  between  present  and  possible 
sensations,  out  of  which  grows  the  consciousness  of  our  own 
personality. 

Such  is  in  outline  this  scheme  for  explaining  fully  the  sub- 
ject by  the  object,  the  human  mind  by  sensation.  It  will  not 
bear  investigation.  We  raise  first,  without  dwelling  on  it,  the 
preliminary  objection  which  we  made  to  Positivism,  calling  in 
question  its  right  to  use  the  inductive  method.  In  order  to 
elaborate  this  theory  of  knowledge, — or,  let  us  rather  say,  to 
found  a  science  of  any  kind, — we  must  argue  from  actual  to 
future  phenomena  in  every  case  in  which  the  circumstances 
are  identical.  If  this  is  not  admitted,  all  that  is  possible  is  the 
verification  of  the  fugitive  sensation  of  the  moment.  We  have 
the  impression  of  the  animal,  not  the  knowledge  of  the  man. 
But  again,  what  right  have  we  to  conclude  from  a  phenomenon 
perceived  by  sensation  alone,  that  it  would  be  certainly  re- 
peated under  analogous  conditions  ?  Sensation  affirms  nothing 
of  the  sort;  for  it  is  essentially  transitory  and  momentary, 
and  in  order  to  generalise,  anticipate,  argue,  we  need  some- 
thing more ;  we  need  an  act  of  the  mind.  Stuart  Mill  indeed 
recognises  this  objection  in  some  degree,  for  he  admits  that 
the  laws  formulated  by  him  are  only  valid  under  our  present 
conditions.  We  have  then  no  guarantee  of  their  permanence. 

He  has  not,  like  the  early  Positivists,  contented  himself  with 
the  simple  induction  which  predicts  the  return  of  phenomena 
under  conditions  already  known.  We  have  seen  how  much 
importance  he  attaches  to  the  notion  of  possible  sensations, 
from  which  alone  he  derives  the  idea  of  substance  and  cor- 
poreality. But  this  conception  of  possible  sensations  har- 


40  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

monised  into  a  great  system,  cannot  be  said  to  be  in  any  sense, 
the  spontaneous  product  of  present  sensation.  The  possible 
which  is  simply  the  virtual,  eludes  it  altogether ;  sensation  has 
to  do  only  with  the  real.  It  can  doubtless  prolong  the  real  in 
imaginacion  ;  but  between  this  and  the  conception  of  a  world, 
a  system  of  ordered  and  graduated  possibilities,  there  is  a  gulf 
which  sensation  alone  can  never  bridge  over.  The  ideas  of 
substance  and  of  corporeality  are  not  then  a  mere  evolution 
of  present  sensation  even  when  this  is  prolonged  in  imagination. 
The  idea  of  the  infinite  in  time  and  space  is  something  alto- 
gether different  from  the  supposition  of  a  possible  fresh  point 
always  following  on  the  one  just  readied.  Prolongation  is  not 
infinity;  the  infinite  implies  something  more  than  the  mere 
juxtaposition  of  points.  All  the  known  points  plus  one,  do  not 
give  the  notion  of  space  or  of  time.  To  assign  to  these  points 
their  place  in  boundless  time  and  space,  it  is  necessary  for  the 
mind  to  know  intuitively  what  time  and  space  are.  The  idea  of 
cause  cannot  be  reduced  to  that  of  mere  succession ;  a  million 
of  antecedents  followed  by  consequents  would  only  give  ante- 
cedents and  consequents,  not  cause  and  effect.  Of  this  we 
have  conclusive  proof  in  the  incontestable  fact,  that  there  are 
invariable  successions  which  will  not  come  under  the  category 
of  cause  and  effect.  Day  invariably  succeeds  night,  and  yet  it 
is  not  the  night  which  produces  the  day.  If  then  there  is  an 
essential  distinction  between  succession  and  causation,  we  must 
seek  the  notion  of  a  cause  elsewhere  than  in  succession,  that  is 
to  say,  outside  of  material  things ;  we  must  seek  it  in  the 
subject  itself,  in  the  mind.  Again,  as  has  been  observed  by  M. 
Janet,  the  association  of  ideas,  when  it  arises  out  of  sensation 
only  and  is  left  to  itself,  never  leads  to  a  logical  sequence  of 
thought  We  are  familiar  with  such  associations  in  sleep  ;  in 
dreams  we  are  the  sport  of  our  sensations.  The  result  is  a  wild 
medley  of  ideas,  though  we  can  often,  with  a  little  attention, 
trace  the  broken  and  tangled  threads  which  have  been  linked 
together  in  our  memory,  and  the  first  impressions  which  pro- 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  41 

duced  this  inextricable  confusion.  In  order  that  our  ideas 
should  be  connected  in  a  normal  manner,  we  have  to  control 
and  watch  them,  and  to  keep  them  within  reasonable  bounds ; 
in  a  word,  we  have  to  exercise  the  active  faculties  of  our  mind. 
The  purely  external  and  fortuitous  connection  of  ideas  differs 
altogether  from  the  logical  association,  which  is  an  act  of 
thought.1  Stuart  Mill  does  not  see  that  his  whole  theory  of 
the  association  of  ideas  is  one  gigantic  petitio  principii.  What 
is  he  aiming  at  by  this  means,  but  to  explain  the  presence  of 
the  idea  of  cause  in  the  human  mind?  And  what  do.es  this 
mean  but  that  he  is  endeavouring  to  find  out  its  origin  ?  Thus 
in  the  very  effort  which  he  makes  to  get  rid  of  the  principle 
of  causation,  he  pays  homage  to  it  and  sanctions  it;  for  after 
all,  the  association  of  ideas  is  the  cause  of  the  idea  of  cause ;  it 
professes  to  give  at  once  the  how  and  the  why,  and  in  working 
it  out,  Mr.  Mill  has  been  constrained  to  appeal  constantly  to 
the  principle  of  causation.  The  inadequacy  of  his  theory  is 
most  striking  when  we  look  at  his  explanation  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  ego.  How  is  it  possible  to  reduce  the  ego 
to  a  mere  residuum,  an  aggregate  of  converging  sensations,  even 
if  we  ascribe  to  it  no  higher  functions  than  Mr.  Stuart  Mill 
does  ?  In  order  to  associate  two  ideas,  it  is  needful  that  the 
ego  should  at  least  be  conscious  of  longer  duration  than  either 
of  them,  in  order  that  he  may  master  and  connect  them.  It  is 
not  possible  that  the  ego  should  be  simply  the  sum  total  of 
these  two  ideas  or  sensations,  since  it  is  able  to  bring  them 
together  and  to  associate  them.  If  it  were  so,  it  must  be  de- 
fined as  an  addition  sum  adding  up  itself,  which  would  be  non- 
sense. Beside  the  element  of  duration  which  distinguishes  the 
ego  from  its  sensations,  it  possesses  also  an  element  of  activity, 
an  energy  peculiar  to  itself,  and  without  which  it  would  not 
associate  its  sensations, Yor  to  say  that  they  associate  themselves 
as  they  pass  through  the  mind,  is  to  say  nothing.  Either  they 
simply  pass  through  the  ego  and  leave  no  trace,  or  they  mark 
1  Janet.  "  Psychologic,"  chap,  v.,  pp.  51,  92. 


42  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

their  passage  by  encountering  a  reaction  from  it.  This  reaction 
implies  an  active  element,  something  which  is  not  simply  wave 
succeeding  wave,  but  a  force  distinct  from  them.  In  order  that 
the  chain  of  association  may  be  perceived,  that  is,  may  have 
the  slightest  reality,  it  is  indispensable  that  at  least  one  of  the 
links  should  be  separate  and  raised  above  it,  and  should  have 
consciousness  of  this.  The  fact  of  consciousness  implies  the 
distinction  between  the  object  and  the  subject,  or  it  is  nil; 
without  this  there  is  neither  thought  nor  knowledge,  simply  a 
movement  of  things  which,  leaving  no  trace,  is  as  though  it 
had  never  been. 

Stuart  Mill  was  conscious  himself  of  the  insufficiency  of  his 
explanation  of  the  ego.  Thus  he  frequently  uses  terms  which 
do  not  coincide  with  his  theory,  as  when  he  speaks  "  of  that 
reality  which  by  the  grouping  of  phenomena  establishes  the  law 
of  beings,  and  connects  the  immediate  and-  actual  with  the 
mediate  and  possible."  In  order  to  accomplish  such  an  opera- 
tion, mind  must  be  more  than  a  bundle  of  sensations,  or  an 
aggregate  of  impressions.  With  his  loyalty  to  truth,  the  great 
thinker  has  himself  acknowledged  that  we  cannot  content  our- 
selves with  Hume's  explanations  of  this  capital  point.  He 
says  :  "  The  inexplicable  tie  or  law,  the  organic  union  (as 
Professor  Masson  calls  it),  which  connects  the  present  con- 
sciousness with  the  past  one  which  it  recalls,  is  as  near  as  I 
think  we  can  get  to  a  positive  conception  of  self.  That  there 
is  something  real  in  this  tie,  real  as  the  sensations  themselves, 
and  not  a  mere  product  of  the  laws  of  thought  without  any  fact 
corresponding  to  it,  I  hold  to  be  indubitable.  .  .  .  This 
original  element,  to  which  we  cannot  give  any  name  but  its  own 
peculiar  one  without  implying  some  false  or  ungrounded  theory, 
is  the  ego  or  self.  As  such  I  ascribe  a  reality  to  the  ego — to  my 
own  mind — different  from  that  real  existence  as  a  permanent 
possibility,  which  is  the  only  reality  I  acknowledge  in  matter."  1 

1  "  Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy,"  Stuart  Mill, 
p.  262. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  43 

This  is  the  fixed  point  we  have  been  seeking,  the  reality  of 
the  ego ;  and  incomplete  and  mutilated  as  this  reality  may 
still  be,  it  is  something  we  can  take  hold  of.  Without  this 
fixed  point  thought  is  lost  in  the  void,  for  the  most  we  can 
arrive  at  from  the  analysis  of  our  ideas  is  only  a  sensation, 
that  is  to  say  a  representation.  By  what  or  by  whom  has  it 
been  produced  ?  What  is  there  behind  it  ?  We  are  allowed 
to  suppose  nothing  beyond,  and  thus  we  are  kept  in  a  vicious 
circle  of  representations  which  represent  nothing,  and  which 
have  no  medium  on  which  to  fall.  No  ray,  no  reflector  ;  this 
is  the  negation  to  which  we  are  brought  if  the  ego  has  no 
reality.  Unhappily  Stuart  Mill  has  been  content  to  make 
memory  the  sole  and  very  inadequate  factor  of  the  ego.  His 
theory  of  morals  never  rises  above  utilitarianism,  so  that  it 
ignores  the  most  indestructible  basis  of  the  ego,  the  moral 
absolute. 

2.  HERBERT  SPENCER. 

Herbert  Spencer  has  supplemented  Stuart  Mill's  explanation, 
by  his  theory  of  evolution.  He  has  given  full  scope  to  the 
association  of  ideas  by  including  the  broad  field  of  heredity, 
which  takes  us  far  beyond  the  narrow  limits  of  the  individual 
life,  for  heredity  implies  the  succession  of  generations  through 
countless  ages.  Each  generation  may  have  added  its  contin- 
gent to  the  intellectual  treasure  which  constitutes  the  human 
mind  as  we  know  it  to-day,  and  which  is  the  slow  accumulation 
of  centuries  of  human  experience.  Herbert  Spencer  closely 
associates  his  psychology  with  his  cosmology,  which  we  shall 
only  look  at  now  as  it  comes  under  the  problem  of  knowledge, 
reserving  to  a  subsequent  chapter  the  discussion  of  its  prin- 
ciples. He  bases  his  whole  system  upon  one  axiom — the 
persistence  of  force,  which  can  neither  be  augmented  nor 
diminished,  but  merely  transformed.  This  force,  ever  the 
same,  is  the  primordial  homogeneous  unity,  which  by  an 
inward  necessity  is  ever  tending  to  the  heterogeneous,  or  to  the 


44  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

differentiation  which  produces  an  ever-progressing  defmiteness 
m  the  organism.  The  organism  tends  constantly  to  adapt  itself 
to  the  element  in  which  it  lives.  Hence  its  growth,  its  evolution 
from  the  lower  stages  of  indefiniteness  to  the  fullest,  most  com- 
prehensive and  definite  life,  such  as  we  find  in  man.  In  his  theory 
of  knowledge,  which  alone  is  before  us  for  the  moment,  Herbert 
Spencer  contents  himself  with  deducing  the  consequences  of 
his  cosmology.  Knowledge  also  has  passed  through  number- 
less phases  from  the  lower  degree  to  the  higher,  in  conformity 
with  the  twofold  law  of  the  necessary  transition  from  the  homo- 
geneous to  the  heterogeneous,  and  of  the  adaptation  of  life  to  its 
environment.  Intellectual  life  is  not  at  first  distinguished  from 
physical  life.  It  grows  up  little  by  little  by  successive  additions. 
There  is  a  continual  progression  from  the  reflex  action  by  which 
the  infant  seeks  the  breast,  to  the  intricate  reasoning  of  the 
adult.  This  progression  is  illustrated  by  the  differentiation 
and  specialisation  of  climates,  which  at  first  were  all  involved 
in  featureless  homogeneity.  Intelligence,  which  at  the  outset  is 
reflex  action,  becomes  instinct,  then  memory,  then  reason,  as 
little  by  little  it  adapts  itself  to  its  conditions.  The  accumula- 
tion of  experiences  and  hereditary  transmission  play  a  large 
part  in  this  evolution  of  intelligence.  Thus,  that  which  was  at 
first  only  an  experience,  an  association  of  ideas,  becomes  a 
notion  so  identified  with  thought,  that  it  has  all  the  appear- 
ance of  intuition.  The  hereditary  perfectly  resembles  the 
innate.  The  individual  man  does  not  need  to-day  to  act,  like 
his  first  ancestors,  on  experiences  and  associations  of  ideas  or 
of  sensations,  in  order  to  acquire  fundamental  notions  of  his 
own  reason ;  it  suffices  that  these  have  been  acquired  by 
earlier  generations  ;  they  have  been  directly  transmitted  to 
him,  and  he  makes  use  of  them  as  if  they  originally  formed 
part  of  his  mind.  It  is  of  little  consequence  that  these  founda- 
tions of  his  intellectual  life  have  been  formed,  as  certain  rocks 
are  lormed,  by  slow  accumulation  of  grain  after  grain  of  sand. 
The  lapse  of  ages  has  cemented  them  in  such  a  way  that  they 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  45 

fulfil  the  functions  of  the  intuitive  and  axiomatic  ideas  of  the 
old  psychology;  for  these  notions  were  not  always  axioms, 
they  have  only  become  so.  They  are  not  necessary,  in  the 
sense  that  they  are  not  eternal  and  absolute,  not  based  upon 
the  very  constitution  of  the  mind ;  but  they  are  so  now,  for 
they  can  never  be  destroyed.  This  is  all  the  more  impossible 
because  the  physical  organ  of  mind  has  itself  been  modified 
under  the  influence  of  these  acquisitions  of  experience,  and  it 
has  increased  in  bulk.  Heredity  has  modified  this  as  it  does 
the  other  organs,  and  the  brain  of  the  European  is  appreciably 
larger  than  that  of  the  Papuan. 

Applying  these  general  theories  to  the  principal  ideas  which 
have  been  regarded  as  original  or  intuitive,  Herbert  Spencer, 
following  Stuart  Mill,  endeavours  to  show  that  the  notion  of 
space  and  time  proceeds  from  an  experience  of  the  senses. 
Time  is  the  generalisation  of  all  the  experiences  by  which  we 
perceive  things  in  succession,  as  space  is  the  abstract  of  all 
those  in  which  we  perceive  co-existence.  These  experiences 
have  their  origin  in  the  exercise  of  our  muscles,  which  give  us 
the  sensation  of  force.  Light,  electricity,  magnetism,  chemical 
action,  the  motion  of  matter,  vegetable,  anjmal,  intellectual 
life,  all  this  is  persistent  force,  or  energy.  The  vital  forces  are 
the  forces  from  which  our  thoughts  and  feelings  spring,  and 
which  expend  themselves  in  producing  them.  Hence  Herbert 
Spencer  argues  that  thought  is  only  a  transformation  of  mole- 
cular motion. 

The  theory  of  evolution  does  not  seem  to  us  to  render  em- 
piricism more  plausible  than  before.  First,  it  has  to  encounter 
the  same  objections  as  the  theory  of  the  association  of  ideas,  on 
all  the  points  on  which  it  is  in  harmony  with  it.  It  claims  to 
facilitate  it  by  the  introduction  of  heredity,  which  gives  it  an  in- 
definite length  of  time  to  produce  its  combinations  and  weave 
its  complicated  web.  But  we  reply,  Time  is  no  element  in  the 
question.  Sensations  do  not  acquire  any  fresh  virtue  by  multi- 
plication and  combination  through  myriad  ages ;  they  remain 


46  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

passive,  successive,  transitory,  and  we  are  entitled  to  ask : 
whence  did  they  derive  this  strange  power  of  combining, 
generalising,  and  finally  arriving  at  abstract  conclusions? 
This  implies  positive  mental  activity ;  how  can  it  be  evolved 
from  the  purely  passive  ?  We  fail  further  to  understand  how 
heredity  can  constitute  this  ego  conscious  of  itself  and  of  its 
modifications.  It  is  not  distinct  from  its  sensations,  for  it  is 
nothing  more  than  a  "  parcel  of  impressions,"  and  yet  it 
connects  and  concentrates  them,  and  forms  ideas  from  them  ; 
nay,  more,  it  feels  itself  to  be  stationary  and  resistant  in  the 
midst  of  incessant  modifications  of  its  environment.  This  is  a 
mode  of  existence  sui  generis.  How  has  it  been  produced  in 
the  child,  if  it  was  not  in  the  parent?  We  must  frankly 
acknowledge  with  Stuart  Mill,  that  the  identity  of  the  ego  can- 
not be  explained  by  mere  association  of  ideas.  Ideas  might 
be  passively  associated  through  endless  ages,  but  they  would 
never  give  birth  to  consciousness,  which  is  shown  to  be  some- 
thing apart  from  them  by  the  very  fact  that  it  apprehends  their 
connection. 

If  we  pass  on  to  the  intuitive  ideas,  which  are  said  to  be 
the  result  of  accumulated  experiences,  we  at  once  perceive  that 
Herbert  Spencer  is  not  more  successful  than  Stuart  Mill  in 
explaining  them.  He  refers'  the  idea  of  time  to  that  of  a  per- 
ceived sequence,  and  the  idea  of  space  to  that  of  co-existence  ; 
but  these  words,  sequence  and  co-existence,  are  properly  only 
equivalents  of  the  ideas  of  time  and  space,  which  amounts  to 
saying  that,  in  order  to  obtain  the  experience  of  time  and  space, 
we  must  already  have  the  pre-conceived  idea  of  them.  The 
fact  that  two  movements  follow  one  another,  does  not  imply 
the  idea  of  succession  indefinitely  prolonged,  any  more  than 
their  coincidence  implies  their  continuous  co-existence.  It 
may  be  objected  again,  that  the  idea  of  succession  and  of 
co-existence  comes  with  our  dimmest  and  lowest  percep- 
tions. Hence  it  follows  that  time  and  space  force  them- 
selves upon  the  elementary  perception  without  requiring  any 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  47 

lengthened  experience.  If  we  were  confined  to  our  sensa- 
tions, we  should  have  a  vague  sense  of  simultaneotisness,  but 
none  of  a  continuous  co-existence.  The  ideas  of  time  and  space 
then  precede  the  experience  of  succession  and  simultaneous- 
ness,  above  which  our  senses  alone  would  never  raise  us.  M. 
Janet  well  says  :  "  Even  if  all  the  laws  of  mind  were  reduced 
to  the  association  of  sensations,  hereditary  or  otherwise,  there 
is  at  least  one  law  which  could  not  be  included — the  law  of 
association  itself;  for  all  association  implies  the  presence  of 
two  differing  sensations  in  the  same  consciousness.  Thus  the 
unity  of  consciousness,  the  thinking  /,  is  at  the  bottom  of  all. 
Mere  succession  or  simultaneousness  is  only  an  external  relation 
between  two  sensations ;  there  is  still  needed  a  connecting 
link,  a  principle  of  synthesis."1  The  idea  of  time  could  not  in 
any  case  be  explained  by  the  mere  association  of  sensations, 
for  it  must  precede  all  associations.  In  order  to  associate 
sensations,  there  must  be  the  notion  of  a  certain  succession  and 
a  certain  simultaneousness,  which  implies  the  relations  of  time. 
Herbert  Spencer  has  not  been  faithful  to  his  own  system. 
How  could  he  fail  to  see  that  he  had  introduced  the  wolf  into 
the  sheep-fold,  when  he  brought  in  the  &  priori  by  his  famous 
axiom  of  the  persistence  of  force  ?  He  affirms  this  without 
proving  it.  It  is  with  him  a  true  postulate,  and  by  virtue  of 
this  postulate  he  refuses  us  the  right  to  accept  any  others. 
The  contradiction  is  flagrant.  The  use  which  he  makes  of  his 
axiom  is  moreover  quite  unwarrantable.  From  the  persistence 
of  force  he  concludes  that  there  is  but  one  manifestation  of 
force,  the  mechanical;  and  from  this  he  professes  to  derive 
by  evolution  all  the  manifestations  of  life,  thought  included, 
without  ever  explaining  how  motion  is  transformed  into 
thought.  Matter  seeking  to  understand  itself,  is  no  longer 
mutter ;  motion  which  is  conscious  of  itself,  is  no  longer 
mere  motion.3  Evolution  cannot  give  more  than  it 

1  "Traite  de  Philosophic,"  Janet,  chap,  ix.,  p.  214. 

8  Charles  Secretan,  "  Discours  Laiques,"  IV.  "  Phenomenisrae. " 


48  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

possesses.  The  total  of  an  addition  ^  cannot  be  more  than  the 
sum  of  the  figures  composing  it.  Before  we  can  derive  thought 
(not  to  speak  of  the  moral  life)  from  mechanical  force,  new 
quantities  must  have  been  surreptitiously  brought  into  the 
operation. 

This  then  is,  in  short,  the  decisive  objection  to  the  theory 
of  evolution— it  is  necessarily  unfaithful  to  its  own  principle. 
It  introduces  at  every  step  of  development  between  the  ante- 
cedent and  the  consequent,  an  element  which  was  not  in  the 
antecedent.  "However  small  the  interval  may  be,  it  cannot  be 
crossed.  The  second  state  is  the  test  plus  something.  Every 
specific  difference  is  irreducible  by  thought  to  the  preceding 
quantities.'"'1 

The  development  of  mechanical  force  does  not  explain  that 
which  is  added  to  it  in  the  different  stages  of  development; 
it  accounts  for  the  series  of  mechanical  phenomena,  but  not 
for  the  successive  forms  of  which  they  are,  so  to  speak,  the 
substance.  There  are  but  two  alternatives.  Either  that  which 
pertains  to  the  final  outcome  of  development  was  implicitly  in- 
cluded in  its  principle,  and  then  the  principle  was  not  simply 
mechanical;  or  else,  something  new  has  been  introduced  to  pro- 
duce the  development,  and  this  new  element  raises  us  above  the 
merely  mechanical.  We  have  not  to  do  with  the  simple  trans- 
formation of  one  form  into  another ;  in  either  case,  evolution 
fails  to  explain  the  phenomenon.  This  reasoning  is  perfectly 
applicable  to  the  psychology  of  Herbert  Spencer,  which  recog- 
nises only  a  simple  evolution  of  mechanical  force,  from  reflex 
movement  up  to  reason,  taking  instinct  by  the  way.  "It  is 
impossible  not  to  perceive  that  from  the  reflex  movement  to 
instinct,  and  from  instinct  to  reason,  there  is  an  accumulation 
the  elements  of  which  were  not  contained  in  the  previous  states. 
Where  were  those  elements?  Were  they  contained  in  the 
object  of  knowledge,  in  that  which  we  call  the  world?  Then 
the  laws  of  thought  would  be  the  very  laws  of  the  world,  its 
1  Liard.  "La  Science  et  la  Metaphysique,"  Livre  V.,  chap.  x. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  49 

primordial  laws ;  the  world  would  have  been  created  in  har- 
mony with  them,  and  would  find  its  own  mirror  in  the  mind 
of  man.  What  then  becomes  of  the  evolution  of  mere  me- 
chanical force,  if  this  does  not  include  the  entire  object,  if  the 
object  eludes  it  in  part,  by  virtue  of  these  principles  of  higher 
development?  The  laws  of  mind,  being  the  laws  of  the  world, 
cease  to  be  subjective ;  they  become  objective,  and  phenome- 
nalism is  at  an  end.  It  is  indeed  quite  another  thing  if  they  are 
fixed  laws  inherent  in  the  subject  himself.  Then  the  theory  of 
evolution  at  once  collapses.  But  if  the  laws  are  neither  in  the 
object  nor  in  the  subject,  then  evolution  commences  in  pure 
negation ;  and  since  it  can  only  produce  what  it  contains, 
psychology  must  stop  at  reflex  movement,  and  strike  off  all  its 
higher  developments,  since  they  are  incapable  of  explanation. 
There  is  no  escape  from  this  dilemma.  Either  these  universal 
notions  are  germinally  present  when  evolution  begins,  and  if  so 
evolution  does  not  create  them,  it  only  develops  them,  and  the 
forms  of  thought  have  an  absolute  beginning;  or  else  they 
appear  at  some  stage  of  evolution,  and  then  their  beginning  is 
equally  absolute."1 

II.  FRENCH  PSYCHOLOGY. 
M.  TAINE'S  THEORY  OF  INTELLIGENCE. 

M.  Taine's  book  "On  Intelligence"  belongs  entirely  to  the 
new  psychology.  It  is  characterised  by  all  his  peculiar 
originality  and  vivacity  of  style,  but  the  thought  is  essentially 
the  same.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  points,  therefore,  we 
need  not  repeat  the  arguments  we  have  already  advanced 
against  the  theory  of  association  of  ideas.  M.  Tnine  has  made 
French  fireworks  with  English  powder.  The  figure  is  a  per- 
fectly fair  one,  applied  to  his  system,  for  to  him  the  world  is 
nothing  more  than  a  great  show  of  fireworks,  only  that  there 
is  no  maker  of  them,  and  the  rockets  go  off  of  their  own  accord 

Liard,  "  La  Science  et  la  Metaphysique." 


50  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

and  describe  their  wonderful  arcs  spontaneously,  while  no  one 
can  tell  how  the  strange  play  began.  This  system  of  M. 
Taine  is  characterised,  in  fact,  by  a  strange  mixture  of  absolute 
materialism  and  the  wildest  idealism.  He  reduces  sensation 
to  mere  molecular  motion,  transmitted  to  the  nerves;  and 
yet  matter,  after  all,  is  nothing,  and  bodies  are  as  much 
"metaphysical  phantoms"  as  is  consciousness.  Let  us  give 
his  own  summary  of  this  singular  system  in  his  own  figurative 
language. 

"  All  science/'  he  says,  "  leads  to  generalisations,  venture- 
some perhaps,  but  still  not  to  be  rejected,  for  they  are  the  top- 
stone  of  the  whole  edifice,  and  it  is  in  order  to  climb  to  this  high 
look-out  point,  that  generation  after  generation  has  gone  on 
building.  Psychology  also  has  its  look-out,  all  the  more  eleva- 
ted, in  that  it  goes  back  to  the  origin  of  our  knowledge,  and  at 
once  leaves  behind  the  ordinary  point  of  view,  which  is  simply 
the  useful  and  practical.  As  we  rise  from  this  standpoint,  we 
at  once  perceive  that  there  is  nothing  real  in  the  ego,  save  the 
thread  of  its  events,  that  these  events,  various  in  aspect,  are 
the  same  in  nature,  and  all  traceable  to  sensation  ;  that  sen- 
sation itself,  regarded  from  without  and  by  that  indirect  medium 
which  is  called  external  perception,  is  reduced  to  a  group  of 
molecular  motions.  A  continuous  flux,  an  aggregate  of  sensa- 
tions and  impulses,  which,  looked  at  in  another  aspect,  are  but 
a  flux  or  aggregate  of  nervous  vibrations — this  is  the  mind. 
This  pyrotechnic  show,  prodigiously  multiform  and  complex, 
is  built  and  for  ever  being  re-built  of  a  million  of  sky-rockets  : 
yet  we  never  see  anything  but  its  topmost  flights.  The  greater 
part  of  ourselves  remains  beyond  our  own  field  of  observation. 
The  visible  ego  is  immeasurably  smaller  than  the  obscure,  in- 
visible ego.  This  ego  is  but  a  leader  of  the  rank  and  file,  a 
higher  centre  beneath  which  are  ranged,  in  the  segments  of 
the  spinal  cord  and  in  the  nervous  ganglions,  a  crowd  of  other 
subordinate  centres,  so  that  man,  as  a  whole,  presents  a  sort 
of  hierarchy  of  centres  of  sensation  and  of  motion,  each  con- 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  51 

trolled  by  a  more  perfect  centre,  which  sends  its  general  orders 
to  them"  all.  If  now,  after  mind,  we  look  at  nature,  at  the 
very  first  step,  we  leave  ordinary  observation  behind.  Just  as 
spiritual  substance  is  a  phantom  created  by  the  consciousness, 
so  material  substance  is  a  phantom  created  by  the  senses. 
Bodies  being  nothing  but  moveable  motors,  there  is  nothing 
real  in  them  except  their  motions,  to  which  all  physical 
events  are  to  be  traced.  But  this  motion  is  traceable  to  a 
succession  of  sensations  infinitely  simplified  and  refined; 
thus  physical  events  are  only  a  rudimentary  form  of  moral 
events,  and  we  come  to  conceive  of  body  on  the  model  of 
mind.  The  one  and  the  other  are  a  current  of  homogeneous 
events  which  consciousness  calls  sensations,  which  the  senses 
call  movements,  and  which  from  their  nature  are  always  in 
the  act  of  perishing  or  being  born.  Beside  the  bundle  of 
fireworks  in  ourselves,  there  are  others  analogous,  which  com- 
pose the  corporeal  world ;  they  are  different  in  aspect  but  the 
same  in  nature,  and  their  graduated  jets  of  light  fill,  with  ours, 
the  immensity  of  space  and  time.  An  infinity  of  rockets,  all  of 
the  same  sort,  but  of  varying  complexity  and  flight,  are  inces- 
santly and  eternally  shooting  up  and  falling  again  into  the 
black  void ;  such  are  the  things  we  call  physical  and  moral 
existences.  Each  one  of  them  is  only  a  line  of  events,  of 
which  nothing  is  durable  but  the  form ;  and  we  may  repre- 
sent nature  to  ourselves  as  a  great  Aurora  Borealis."1 

The  theory  which  is  here  enwrapped  in  a  gay  mantle  of 
metaphors,  may  be  expressed  in  sufficiently  simple  terms, 
especially  if  we  bear  in  mind  the  ample  extension  given  to  it 
by  its  author.  Though  it  is  substantially  the  same  as  the 
English  theory  of  association,  it  is  worth  our  while  to  linger 
a  little  over  this  French  development  of  the  new  psychology. 
We  find  in  it  the  fundamental  principle  of  the  school — that 
all  knowledge  must  be  referred  to  sensation.  This  is  ideuti- 

1  Taine.      "On  Intelligence,"  Introduction. 


52  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

fied  with  molecular  motion,  at  least  in  its  obscure  beginnings, 
in  that  dim  background  which  exists  before  consciousness. 
After  emerging  from  this  nebulous  condition,  sensation  has 
to  undergo  a  complicated  process  before  it  is  organised  into 
that  well-compacted  fabric  called  the  ego,  which  is  nothing 
more  than  the  continuous  web  of  its  successive  events. 
Evidently  it  would  have  been  quite  incapable  of  this  com- 
bination, which  implies  a  certain  persistence,  if  it  had  remained 
in  its  original  state,  for  sensation,  simply  as  such,  is  essentially 
fugitive.  In  order  to  start  this  further  process,  two  factors  are 
necessary,  memory  and  the  faculty  of  abstraction,  of  generali- 
sation. Generalisation  is  essentially  a  mechanical  process. 
In  order  that  a  sensation  may  become  fixed,  it  must  take  the 
form  of  an  image;  this  is  its  substitute,  but  not  its  equivalent; 
inasmuch  as  it  is  no  longer  actual  sensation,  which  alone  is 
the  real.  These  images  would  be  too  cumbersome,  if  they  also 
had  not  their  substitute.  This  they  find  in  the  sign,  which  is 
an  isolated  image  recalling  the  series  to  which  it  belongs ;  or 
at  least  the  couple  of  which  it  is  one  of  the  terms,  without  its 
being  necessary  that  the  two  terms  should  be  represented  at 
once.  Thus,  when  we  see  from  the  top  of  a  monument  a 
number  of  black  spots,  we  know  that  these  black  spots  are 
living  bodies,  human  beings.  Proper  names  are  signs  repre- 
sentative of  images.  The  faculty  of  abstraction  and  generalis- 
ation renders  a  sign  ever  increasingly  comprehensive,  and  by 
enlarging  the  memory,  permits  the  growth  of  the  fabric  of 
sensations,  which,  by  the  association  of  images,  constitute  the 
ego.  "  It  seems  then  that  nature  has  undertaken  to  provide 
in  us  representatives  of  her  events,  and  has  effected  her 
purpose  in  the  most  economical  way.  She  has  provided  first, 
the  sensation  which  interprets  the  fact  with  more  or  less 
precision  and  delicacy ;  then  the  surviving  sensation,  capable 
of  indefinite  revival,  that  is  to  say,  the  image  which  repeats 
the  sensation,  and  consequently  translates  the  fact  itself;  then 
the  name,  a  sensation  or  image  of  a  particular  kind,  which, 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  53 

by  virtue  of  its  acquired  properties,  represents  the  general 
character  of  many  similar  facts."1 

By  generalisation  after  generalisation  we  arrive  at  the  notion 
of  those  "  possible  sensations  "  which  play  so  large  a  part  in 
Stuart  Mill's  system.  This  idea  of  possible  sensations  obtain- 
ed by  a  sort  of  spontaneous  induction,  becomes  a  permanent 
faculty  and  completes  the  ego,  the  evolution  of  which  began 
with  the  association  of  images.  The  ego  is  thus  the  possibility 
of  receiving  new  and  identical  sensations  under  analogous  con- 
ditions. If  this  possibility,  regarded  subjectively,  completes 
the  notion  of  the  ego,  so,  objectively  considered,  it  constitutes 
body,  for  matter  is  nothing  more  than  a  cluster  of  pro- 
perties tending  to  excite  particular  sensations.  As  to  the 
so-called  intuitive  ideas  or  axioms,  they  in  no  way  proceed 
from  the  essential  constitution  of  the  human  mind ;  they  only 
result  empirically  from  the  affective  associations  which  have 
been  formed  between  ideas  and  sensations.  The  idea  of 
cause  is  only  the  generalisation  of  the  simple  association 
between  antecedents  and  consequents.  It  follows  that  just 
as  the  ego  is  a  compound  abstract,  so  all  so-called  intuitive 
ideas  are  only  generalised  associations. 

The  large  part  assigned  to  abstraction  and  generalisation 
explains  how  it  is  that  everything  beyond  molecular  motion, 
whether  in  the  subject  or  the  object,  is  chimerical  to  M. 
Taine ;  for  it  is  of  the  essence  of  abstraction  and  general- 
isation to  get  ever  further  and  further  from  reality,  that  is,  from 
actual  sensation,  though  reality  derives  from  sensation  its  first 
transformation.  This  ego,  which  is  only  a  compound  abstrac- 
tion, is  then  a  mere  phantom.  Body,  the  material  element, 
which  is  nothing  more  than  a  possibility  of  sensation,  is 
equally  phantasmal.  Our  perceptions  are  but  hallucinations, 
their  mutual  concordance  is  all  that  we  know  of  truth.  Thus 
the  rockets  rise  und  fall  in  the  black  void. 

1  "  On  Intelligence,"  Henri  Taine,  Part  I.,  p.  150.  English  Translation, 
by  T.  D.  Haye. 


54  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

This  is  the  most  reckless  idealism  ever  conceived.  And  yet, 
by  a  strange  inconsistency,  M.  Taine  insists  upon  the  close  cor- 
relation that  ought  to  subsist  between  the  formation  of  general 
ideas  and  the  physiological  organ  of  sensation  which  has  its 
seat  in  the  brain.  He  says  :  "  By  the  side  of  sensations  strictly 
so-called,  which  are  by  their  nature  temporary,  dependent 
on  the  vibration  of  the  nerves,  almost  always  incapable  of 
reviving  spontaneously,  and  situated  in  the  centres  of  sensa- 
tion, there  is  within  us  another  series  of  absolutely  analogous 
events,  which  are  by  their  nature  durable,  which  survive  the 
vibration  of  the  nerves,  are  capable  of  reviving  spontaneously, 
and  are  seated  in  the  cerebral  lobes,  or  hemispheres.  These 
are  what  we  term  images.  Here  are  a  second  group  of  sen- 
sations so  similar  to  the  first  that  we  may  call  them,  reviving 
sensations."1  These  groups,  more  or  less  complex,  constitute, 
according  to  the  kind  and  degree  of  their  affinity  or  an- 
tagonism, perceptions  of  external  events,  recollections,  pre- 
visions, or  acts  of  consciousness  properly  so  called.  Lastly 
from  the  signs  which  are  the  substitutes  for  these  images, 
general  ideas  and  general  judgments  are  formed. 

This  physiological  point  of  view  is  still  more  clearly  marked 
in  the  following  passage  :  "  We  know  that  all  ideas,  all  cogni- 
tions, all  the  operations  of  the  mind,  are  composed  of  associated 
images,  that  all  these  associations  depend  on  the  property  of 
images  to  revive,  and  that  images  themselves  are  sensations 
reviving  spontaneously.  All  this  agrees  with  the  teaching  of 
psychology.  An  action  is  produced  in  the  sensitive  centres ; 
it  there  excites  a  primary  or  crude  sensation.  An  exactly 
similar  action  is  consequently  developed  in  a  cortical  element 
of  the  cerebral  lobes,  and  there  excites  a  secondary  sensation 
or  image.  The  first  action  is  incapable,  and  the  second  is 
capable,  of  reviving  spontaneously.  Consequently  the  crude 
sensation  is  incapable,  and  the  image  is  capable,  of  reviving 

1  Taine.  "On  Intelligence."  English  Translation,  by  T.  D.  Haye,  p. 
226. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  55 

spontaneously.  .  .  .  The  more  extensive  the  cortical  matter 
of  the  brain,  the  more  elements  has  it  capable  of  setting  one 
another  in  action ;  the  more  elements  it  has  capable  of  setting 
one  another  in  action,  the  more  delicate  an  instrument  of  repe- 
tition it  is.  The  brain,  then,  is  the  repeater  of  the  sensitive 
centres,  and  it  will  the  better  fulfil  this  office  the  more  numer- 
ous the  repeating  elements  of  which  it  is  itself  composed."  J 

Here  we  are  plunged  in  undiluted  physiology ;  everything 
is  explained  by  the  constitution  of  the  brain.  This  would 
be  very  well  if  the  brain  did  not  itself  form  part  of  that 
body  which  is  nothing  but  an  abstraction,  a  possibility  of  sen- 
sation, and  which  has  no  right  therefore  to  play  an  excep- 
tional part  as  if  it  were  something  altogether  different.  The 
contradiction  is  flagrant,  and  extends  to  all  the  historical 
theories  of  the  eminent  writer,  who  has  uniformly  maintained 
the  all-powerful  influence  of  the  material  medium  on  the 
development  of  humanity.  This  material  medium  itself  is 
but  a  chimera  of  the  generalising  faculty,  and  cannot  claim 
a  footing  in  the  domain  of  the  real.  How  then  can  it  exercise 
this  influence  ?  Mind  and  body  are  but  two  aspects,  the 
obverse  and  the  reverse,  the  outer  and  the  inner  side  of  one 
and  the  same  abstraction. 

It  is  not  simply  upon  this  point  that  the  system  of  M.  Taine 
presents  insoluble  contradictions.  I  need  only  allude  again  to 
those  which  have  been  already  pointed  out  in  the  theories  of  his 
predecessors,  namely,  the  impossibility  of  basing  any  induction 
upon  sensations  which  are  in  their  nature  fugitive,  and  incom- 
petent therefore  to  form  the  basis  of  any  anticipations  of  the 
future  ;  the  inadequacy  of  the  theory  of  association  to  explain 
the  memory,  which  is  inseparable  from  the  consciousness  of 
personal  identity,  or  to  rise  to  the  conception  of  the  possible, 
which  altogether  eludes  the  grasp  of  the  senses  ;  and  lastly,  the 
irrationality  of  the  idea  of  an  ego  which  would  be  altogether 

1  "On  Intelligence,"  Henri  Taine.  English  Translation,  by  T.  D.  Haye, 
p.  176. 


56  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

incapable  of  connecting  ideas  unless  it  possessed  a  power  of 
combination  apart  from  the  elements  to  be  combined.  This 
last  objection  is  made  all  the  more  forcible  by  the  importance 
attached  by  M.  Taine  to  the  singular  faculty  which  he  supposes 
man  to  possess,  of  "  apprehending  fixed  analogies  and  re- 
cognising the  relations  between  separate  objects."  I  ask,  how 
can  sensation  perform  such  a  task  ?  If  it  is  simply  a  move- 
ment of  molecules,  how  is  it  capable  of  perceiving  analogies, 
and  determining  relations?  Whence  this  unifying  power  in 
that  which  is  essentially  fluctuating  and  non-coherent  ?  Whence 
this  wondrous  faculty  of  generalising  which  is  to  generate  the 
ego,  if  the  ego  has  no  previous  existence  ?  It  must  needs 
exist  before  such  a  power  can  be  exercised  at  all,  for  to  gen- 
eralise is  to  gather  into  harmony  and  order  elements  before 
scattered  and  confused.  We  cannot  escape  from  this  vicious 
circle.  M.  Taine  compares  the  intellectual  life  to  a  comedy  in 
which  the  actors  come  on  in  succession  to  repeat  their  part ; 
but  he  does  not  tell  us  who  wrote  the  piece  and  distributed 
the  parts.  I  know  indeed  that  the  last  word  of  the  charade  is 
man ;  but  how  can  he  be  the  last,  if  he  is  not  also  the  first  ? 
Can  the  power  which  has  so  arranged  and  disposed  every- 
thing as  to  bring  so  many  scattered  elements  to  a  focus,  be 
anything  less  than  the  ego  itself?  Elsewhere  M.  Taine  com- 
pares the  intellectual  life  to  a  wonderful  system  of  telegraphy 
transmitling  the  despatches  which  it  has  collected;  but  where 
is  the  telegraphist  ? 

We  will  not  dwell  further  on  these  objections,  which  we  have 
already  urged  against  the  English  systems.  Let  us  now  look 
at  M.  Taine's  idea  of  sensation,  which  is  equally  paradoxical. 
He  hazards  a  gratuitous  hypothesis  which  does  not  even 
approximately  solve  the  problem.  Not  only  does  he  admit 
with  perfect  candour  that  the  properties  of  the  cell  entirely 
elude  the  most  delicate  instruments  of  physiological  experi- 
ment; but  he  also  allows  that  the  transition  from  molecular 
motion  to  sensation,  even  when  reduced  to  its  simplest 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  57 

elements,  is  one  which  science  fails  to  trace.  "  In  fact,  what- 
ever may  be  the  structure  of  the  nerves  and  nervous  centres 
whose  action  excites  a  sensation,  however  various  this  struc- 
ture may  be  supposed,  that  which  is  transmitted  from  one  end 
of  the  nerve  to  the  other  up  to  the  ultimate  nervous  centre,  is 
never  more  than  a  molecular  displacement,  more  or  less  rapid, 
extensive,  and  complex.  A  particle  has  a  certain  situation  with 
respect  to  others ;  this  situation  changes,  that  is  all.  At  the 
bottom  of  all  the  sciences  relating  to  bodies  we  find  mechanics. 
So  that  the  different  nervous  actions,  which  excite  different 
sensations,  can  only  be  conceived  as  systems  of  movements. 
Thus  all  these  actions,  though  differing  in  quantity,  are  the 
same  in  quality.  ...  At  the  foundation  of  all  bodily  events 
we  find  an  infinitesimal  event,  imperceptible  to  the  senses, 
a  motion  whose  degrees  and  complications  constitute  the  real 
basis  of  all  phenomena,  physical,  chemical,  or  physiological. 
At  the  foundation  of  all  moral  events,  we  guess  the  presence 
of  an  infinitesimal  event,  imperceptible  to  consciousness,  whose 
degrees  and  complications  make  up  all  sensations,  images,  and 
ideas." l 

In  order  then  to  establish  the  theory  of  consciousness, 
sensation  ought  to  be  capable  of  being  reduced  to  motion. 
Now  M.  Taine  appears  to  give  in  his  adherence  to  this  decisive 
utterance  of  Tyndall :  "The  gulf  which  exists  between  these 
two  classes  of  phenomena  is  always  impassable  to  the  intel- 
lect." He  admits,  with  the  famous  English  physicist,  that  "No 
motion  whatsoever,  whether  rotatory,  undulatory,  or  otherwise, 
bears  any  resemblance  to  the  sensation  of  bitterness,  cold,  or 
pain."  How  can  we  understand  it  when,  after  this,  M.  Taine 
goes  on  to  identify  motion  with  sensation,  and  declares  that 
we  have  in  both  only  one  and  the  same  psychical  event,  simply 
apprehended  by  us  in  two  different  ways?  He  says  :  "While 
sensation  is  immediate  in  its  character,  the  molecular  motion 

1  "  On    Intelligence,"  Henri    Taine.      English   Translation,  by  T.  D. 
Ilaye,  pp.    148,  149. 


58  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

is  only  mediately  perceived  through  the  several  intermediaries 
of  our  senses.  Sensation  is  felt  within  us,  the  motion,  on 
the  contrary,  comes  from  without."  Hence  he  boldly  con- 
cludes that  the  cerebral  and  the  mental  event  are  essentially 
one  and  the  same  under  two  aspects,  the  one  mental,  the 
other  physical,  the  one  perceived  by  the  consciousness,  the 
other  by  the  senses.  But  the  argument  faik ;  for  as  soon  as 
there  is  consciousness,  motion  is  distinguished  from  sensa- 
tion. Their  identity  can  only  be  maintained  by  plunging  into 
the  obscure  depths  of  unconsciousness,  of  which  we  can  know 
nothing.  As  soon  as  knowledge  comes  in,  the  difference  is 
recognised.  This  is  a  difficulty  which  can  only  be  got  over 
by  having  recourse  to  the  singular  method  of  explaining  the 
clear  by  the  obscure,  the  familiar  by  the  unfamiliar,  the  greater 
by  the  less.  It  is  obvious  how  uncertain  must  be  a  system 
of  knowledge  which  rests  upon  a  foundation  sunk  to  such 
unknown  depths  that  it  eludes  all  our  calculations.  This 
system  comes  to  us  from  the  depths  of  an  impenetrable 
mystery.  It  may  not  attempt  to  dispel  the  mystery,  for 
sensations  must  of  necessity  be  identified  with  molecular 
motion,  or  we  have  a  thinking,  conscious  subject,  a  human 
mind  rising  above  the  vortex  of  sensations,  or  rather,  of  mole- 
cules. 

We  have  purposely  passed  by  all  that  relates  to  the  moral 
absolute,  which  vanishes  into  thin  air  in  the  psychology  of  M. 
Taine,  as  in  all  empirical  theories.  Yet,  as  we  shall  see 
presently,  this  is  the  most  solid  basis  of  the  a  priori and  of  the 
reality  of  mind.  We  think  we  have  shown,  however,  without 
diverging  from  the  premisses  of  the  French  philosopher,  that  it 
is  not  possible  for  him  to  be  consistent  with  himself  in  his 
strange  medley  of  materialism  and  idealism,  and  that  he  fails 
to  support- even  his  own  theory  of  knowledge,  or  to  save  it 
from  insoluble  contradictions. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  59 

III.  THE  NEW  GERMAN  PSYCHOLOGY. 
MATERIALISTIC  AND  SCEPTICAL  THEORIES  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

We  shall  not  dwell  at  any  length  upon  the  attempt  made 
also  by  the  new  German  psychology  to  suppress  the  ego,  the 
d  priori ;  for  so  far  it  has  exerted  far  less  influence  upon  the 
thought  of  the  day.1  It  aims  principally  at  identifying,  as 
M.  Taine  has  done,  physical  and  moral  events,  so  that  they 
appear  as  the  same  fact  under  two  aspects. 

This  school  does  not  assign  so  large  a  place  as  the  English 
school  to  the  association  of  ideas.  It  dwells  more  upon  the 
fact  of  the  sense-perception,  which  it  endeavours  to  trace 
back  to  its  physical  concomitant.  It  would  not  be  exact  to 
say  that  it  had  its  precursors  in  such  psychologists  as  Herbart, 
Beneke,  or  even  Lotze,  although  the  school  has  largely  profited 
by  the  writings  of  Herbart  on  the  statics  of  mind.  He  at- 
tempted to  reduce  the  phenomena  of  consciousness  to  simple 
mathematical  laws,  basing  his  argument  on  the  principle  that 
our  representations  may  be  considered  as  forces,  sometimes 
balancing,  sometimes  outweighing  each  other  in  intensity. 
In  the  former  case,  they  neutralise  each  other  and  remain  in 
the  state  of  mere  tendencies.  In  the  latter  case  they  give  rise 
to  a  state  of  consciousness  just  in  proportion  as  they  pass  the 
point  of  neutralisation.  Herbart  endeavoured,  taking  these 
principles  as  a  starting  point,  to  formulate  a  sort  of  mental 
statics,  and  to  measure  the  reciprocal  relations  of  the  represen- 
tations, the  sum  of  which  constitutes  consciousness.  He  still 
recognised  nevertheless  the  reality  of  the  soul,  and  refused  to 
identify  psychical  and  physical  phenomena.  Beneke  also  main- 
tained the  same  distinction.  According  to  him,  the  phenomena 
of  consciousness  tend  constantly  to  pass  into  unconsciousness, 
an  obscure  region  where  they  accumulate  in  the  state  of  traces^ 

1  See  M.  Ribot's  remarkable  rhumt  of  contemporary  German  psychol- 
ogy, "  De  la  Psychologic  Allemande  Contemporaine.  Ecole  Experimen- 
tale."  1879. 


60  THE   PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

free  to  resume  consciousness  under  any  new  exciting  cruise. 
Lotze  attaches  great  importance  to  what  he  calls  the  local  signs, 
which  tactile  and  visible  impressions  leave  after  them  on  the 
points  where  they  are  produced.  As  these  are  apart  from 
one  another  we  obtain  from  them  the  empirical  idea  of  space. 
He  admits,  nevertheless,  the  intuition  of  space,  without  which 
we  should  never  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  it.  He  recognises 
a  metaphysical  element,  and  maintains  that  the  soul  is  a  sub- 
stance.1 

Fechner  belongs  entirely  to  the  empirical  school.  Establish- 
ing a  complete  correlation  between  sensations  and  their  stimuli, 
he  professes  to  give  the  chronological  measure  of  the  former, 
taking  account  of  the  fact  that  the  stimuli  increase  more  rapid- 
ly than  the  sensations  in  appreciable  proportion.  It  is  evident 
that  such  calculations  will  be  always  uncertain,  for  an  external 
yard-measure  must  always  be  too  coarse  to  appraise  so  delicate 
a  phenomenon  as  sensation.  Fechner  himself,  recognising  that 
there  is  always  a  discrepancy  between  sensations  and  their 
stimuli  (for  these,  by  wearying  our  organs,  deaden  them  more 
or  less,  and  prevent  the  exact  correspondence  which  he  had 
predicated)  has  recourse  in  the  end  to  what  he  calls  a  physico- 
psychologic  activity,  which  amounts  after  all  only  to  a  vague 
something  inexplicable  by  physiology,  which  we  call  the  ego.3 

Wundt  vainly  strives  to  give  us  a  physiological  psychology. 
He  also  runs  up  against  the  sphynx  and  encounters  the  x,  the 
unknown  quantity  indeterminable  by  any  of  the  purely  mechan- 
ical theories.  According  to  Wundt,  we  possess  a  principle  of 
unification  of  phenomena  which  seeks  for  unity  under  com- 
plexity. It  is  this  which  gives  unity  to  consciousness,  for  it  is 
essentially  complex  and  multiple  under  its  apparent  unity. 
The  principle  which  brings  it  into  unity,  is  outside  itself,  in 
the  obscure  laboratory  of  unconsciousness,  that  is  to  say,  in 
the  physiological  life.  This  unifying  principle, — by  a  sort 
of  logical  mechanism, — draws  conclusions  spontaneously  from 

1  Ribot.     "Nouvelle  Psychologic  Allemande,"  p.  201.    s  Ibid.,  p.  210. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  61 

the  premisses  given.  Sensation  is  the  first  and  last  of  these 
conclusions.  The  sensations  form  new  premisses,  whence 
the  unifying  principle  deduces  ideas,  which  are  never  more 
than  the  combined  results  of  sensation.  xGeneral  notions  are 
derived  from  ideas  by  the  same  processes.  The  ego  does  not 
exist  by  itself;  it  is  the  conclusion  of  a  train  of  reasoning. 
The  acts  which  give  it  birth  are  the  psychical  processes  of  sensa- 
tion and  perception,  and  the  physiological  facts  of  innervation. 
Wundt's  conclusion  is,  that  mechanism  and  logic  are  identical. 
The  complex  acts  of  psychology  are  at  once  facts  of  the  con- 
sciousness and  states  determined  by  the  nervous  system.  In 
their  physical  aspect,  they  are  only  movements  ;  as  states  of 
consciousness,  they  are  reduced  to  simple  conclusions  of  the 
logic  of  unconsciousness,  that  is  to  say,  they  are  still  purely 
mechanical.  Wundt  has  attempted  to  apply  the  experimental 
method  to  psychology.  He  professes  to  measure  psychological 
time  by  determining  first  the  duration  of  the  sensitive  trans- 
mission, then  that  of  the  perception  and  reaction ;  but  this 
determination  must  always  be  very  arbitrary,  for  the  duration 
of  the  fact  of  consciousness  varies  according  to  the  external 
or  internal  conditions  of  the  subject.  The  fact  of  conscious- 
ness is  more  or  less  rapid  according  to  the  degree  of  atten- 
tion. Wundt  admits,  therefore,  that  he  has  not  yet  been 
able  to  formulate  a  law.  He  thinks  he  has  established  by 
observation  that  the  physiological  time  varies  from  -^  to  ^  of 
a  second,  and  that  the  simplest  intellectual  act  requires  T£Q 
of  a  second;  its  reproduction  by  memory  requires  a  longer 
time.  These  calculations  do  not  at  all  imply  the  unification 
of  the  physical  with  the  psychical  event,  and  they  furnish  no 
explanation  of  the  transformation  of  motion  into  sensation 
or  into  thought.  Wundt  has  also  omitted  to  show  how 
the  physical  is  endowed  with  logic,  and  how  a  principle 
of  unification  can  be  formed  spontaneously  in  the  obscure 
depths  of  unconsciousness;  that  is  to  say,  of  the  purely 
material  life.  To  explain  consciousness  by  unconscious- 


62  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

ness  is  to  violate  the  primary  scientific  law  of  empiricism, 
namely,  the  law  of  induction,  which  requires,  us  always  to  rise 
from  the  better  known  to  the  less.  To  relegate  to  the 
unconscious  state  the  principle  of  unification  which  is  mani- 
fested in  the  conscious  state,  is  to  invert  the  pyramid  and 
make  it  stand  on  its  apex.  There  is  no  ground  for  glorying 
in  such  a  grand  discovery.  M.  Ribot,  notwithstanding  his 
admiration  for  this  new  German  psychology,  which  he  has  so 
well  elucidated,  avows  frankly  that,  if  the  psychical  life  con- 
sists in  a  series  of  states  of  consciousness  connected  with 
physical  states,  two  things  nevertheless  remain  perfectly  in- 
explicable, after  all  the  efforts  of  the  promoters  of  psychology 
without  soul — namely,  the  transition,  first  from  the  inorganic 
to  the  living,  and  then  from  life  to  consciousness.1 

Thus  neither  the  theory  of  association  nor  the  German 
psychology  avails  to  get  rid  of  the  a  priori  element  which  lies 
at  the  basis  of  the  ego.  Shall  we  be  more  successful  if  we 
revert  to  pure  materialism,  which  does  not  deem  it  necessary 
to  explain  the  ego  by  any  of  the  subtle  combinations  which  we 
have  passed  in  review?  It  will  not  detain  us  long,  for  its 
refutation  results  from  the  considerations  already  advanced. 
In  fact,  we  have  seen  the  theory  of  association  of  ideas 
fluctuating  more  and  more  between  idealism  and  the  gross 
solutions  of  materialism.  The  objections  which  we  have  ad- 
vanced against  it  in  both  these  aspects,  bear  directly  upon 
materialism  itself  and  greatly  facilitate  our  task. 

When  we  come  presently  to  discuss  the  anthropological 
question,  we  shall  show  by  the  comparative  study  of  our 
moral  and  intellectual  faculties,  and  of  the  physiological  part 
of  our  being,  how  absolutely  distinct  they  are  even  in  their 

1  Introduction,  p.  xiii.  Von  Hartmann's  theory  on  the  formation  of  the 
conscious  in  the  unconscious,  ought  logically  to  find  its  place  here  ;  but 
as  it  is  impossible  to  understand  it  at  all,  except  in  connexion  with  his 
system,  we  reserve  it  for  our  subsequent  discussion  of  the  bases  of  the 
Philosophy  of  the  Unconscious. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  63 

correlation.     We  shall  then  investigate  the  problems  of  the 
relation  of  brain  and  mind,  and  of  reflex  movement. 

We  shall  content  ourselves  for  the  moment  with  setting  against 
the  materialistic  theories  the  conclusions  of  the  new  English 
psychology.  We  see  that  it  tends  to  a  notion  of  bodies  as 
mere  possibilities  of  sensation,  matter  being  nothing  more 
than  a  freak  of  mind,  an  intellectual  combination.  We 
have  seen  that  M.  Taine  ends  by  plunging  the  world, — which 
he  regards  as  simply  a  vortex  of  phantoms, — into  a  black 
abyss  of  emptiness  ;  and  there  he  must  needs  join  hands  with 
phenomenalism.  Without  admitting  this  extravagant  idealism — 
the  ultimatum  of  the  schools  which,  in  our  day,  are  endeavouring 
to  trace  everything  to  mere  sensation — we  must  admit  that 
that  which  is  least  certain  of  anything  to  us  is  matter,  since 
we  can  never  arrive  at  it  directly.  We  only  come  in  contact 
with  it  through  the  medium  of  our  cognitive  faculties,  which 
do  not  merely  reproduce  but  also  modify  things.  Sensation 
is  not  simply  the  impress  of  external  phenomena  ;  it  exercises 
a  power  of  transformation.  We  all  know  that  neither  colours 
nor  sounds  come  to  us  directly  from  without.  Red  and  white 
have  no  existence  independent  of  the  concentrating  focus  of  our 
organism.  And  this  is  true  of  all  material  phenomena.  "  The 
affirmation  of  an  extended  body  which  has  no  existence  inde- 
pendently of  me,  is  only  an  hypothesis  to  which  I  am  led  by 
the  necessity  of  explaining  to  myself  my  sensations,  that  is  to 
say,  the  modifications  of  my  own  consciousness."  1  We  can 
but  admire  the  imperturbable  assurance  with  which  our  ma- 
terialists pretend  to  have  found  an  unassailable  ground  of 
certainty,  an  irreducible  objectivity,  while  they  are  still  in  the 
bonds  of  pure  subjectivity.  Matter  being  the  least  direct  of 
all  our  cognitions,  our  sensations  present  it  to  us  only  through 
the  medium  of  coloured  glasses.  It  follows  that  mater- 
ialism itself  drives  us  in  on  ourselves;  it  does  not  come 
in  direct  contact  with  things.  The  explanation  of  things 
1  Charles  Secretan.  "  Discours  Laiques,"  p.  126. 


64  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

which  it  gives  us  is  an  hypothesis  to  which  the  mind  is  led  bj 
that  principle  of  causation  which  the  philosophers  of  sensa- 
tion ought  to  renounce,  since  it  involves  them  in  an  inextric- 
able difficulty.  To  endeavour  to  explain  sensation,  even  by 
the  most  exclusive  materialism,  is  to  abandon  its  own  funda- 
mental principle ;  for  any  explanation  implies  the  idea  of  a 
cause,  which  idea  can  only  come  from  mind. 

A  vigorous  thinker  has  traced  out  in  a  remarkable  book  the 
evolution  of  materialism  which  leads  it  to  lose  itself  in  sub- 
jectivism. Lange  has  written  its  history1  with  as  much  clear- 
ness of  style  as  correctness  of  information.  He  has  not  merely 
been  satisfied  with  explaining  philosophical  systems.  He  has 
also  given  us  a  great  picture  of  the  movement  of  contemporary 
science,  and  of  the  immense  progress  achieved  in  the  study  of 
nature.  Lange  seems  at  first  sight  to  be  an  ardent  apologist 
of  the  materialistic  philosophy.  .  He  does  not  hesitate  to  extol 
it  as  having  been  the  only  system  to  favour  the  movement  of 
science ;  though,  while  condemning  the  metaphysics  of  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  he  acknowledges,  as  we  have  seen,  that  these 
grand  dreamers  gave  a  mighty  impulse  to  the  mind  of  man  in 
its  pursuit  of  truth.  If  these  illustrious  teachers  sent  the  bark 
of  thought  into  a  wrong  channel,  as  Lange  believes,  they  yet 
did  what  no  mere  method  could  have  done,  they  filled 
its  sails  with  a  favouring  wind.  Lange  maintains,  neverthe- 
less, that  it  was  materialism  which  was  the  basis  of  the  true 
science  of  nature  in  the  ancient  world.  It  has  owed  its  largest 
advance  since  the  Renaissance  to  Giordano  Bruno,  Bacon, 
Gassendi,  and  in  our  days  to  their  lawful  heirs.  But  it  must  be 
understood  that  it  is  not  materialism  as  a  philosophical  ex- 
planation of  things  which  he  extols ;  in  this  aspect  it  appears 
to  him  exclusive  and  false,  like  all  the  great  philosophical 
systems.  That  which  he  lauds  and  admires  in  it,  is  the  fact 
that  it  concent! ated  itself  upon  the  study  of  reality;  that  it 
sought  to  find  their  laws  in  the  facts  themselves,  and  re« 
1  "History  of  Materialism,"  Lange. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  65 

pudiated  all  the  philosophic  entities  which  would  break  the 
close  tissue  of  natural  facts,  and  introduce  into  it  hypotheses 
wholly  unscientific. 

Materialism  has  then,  according  to  M.  Lange,  done  eminent 
service,  not  only  by  its  attempt  to  form  a  general  theory  or 
cosmology,  but  by  the  elimination  of  metaphysical  entities, 
which,  going  beyond  nature,  divert  our  attention  from  it,  and 
introduce  the  chimerical  into  the  study  of  facts.  But  matter 
itself  is  in  its  essence  emphatically  the  inexplicable.  Material- 
ism has  never  arrived  at  the  reality  itself,  but  only  at  that 
relative  reality  which  we  reach  through  our  media  of  knowledge, 
which  always  bear  the  impress  of  subjectivity.  Lange  entirely 
sanctions  this  declaration  of  Du  Bois-Reymond.  "As  the 
most  powerful  and  complicated  muscular  effort  of  a  man  or 
animal  is  not  essentially  more  obscure  than  the  simple  contrac- 
tion of  a  single  muscular  fibre,  as  a  single  secreting  cell 
involves  the  whole  problem  of  secretion,  so  too  the  activity  ot 
the  soul,  most  exalted  above  material  conditions,  is  not  in  the 
main  point  more  incomprehensible  than  consciousness  in  its 
first  stage  of  sensation.  With  the  first  emotion  of  pleasure 
or  pain  that  the  simplest  creature  experienced  in  the  beginning 
of  animal  life  upon  the  earth,  this  impassable  gulf  is  established, 
and  the  world  has  become  henceforth  doubly  incomprehensible. 
.  .  .  The  anatomical  knowledge  of  the  brain,  the  highest 
knowledge  we  can  attain,  reveals  to  us  nothing  but  matter  in 
motion.  But  if  we  suppose  that  from  this  knowledge  certain 
intellectual  processes  or  dispositions,  as  memory,  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  and  so  on,  might  become  intelligible,  that  too  is 
delusion ;  we  only  learn  certain  conditions  of  intellectual  life, 
but  do  not  learn  how  the  intellectual  itself  is  developed  from 
these  conditions.  What  conceivable  connection  exists  between 
certain  movements  of  certain  atoms  in  my  brain  on  the  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other  the,  to  me,  original  and  not  further 
definable  but  undeniable  facts :  *  I  feel  pain,  feel  pleasure, 
I  taste  something  sweet,  smell  roses,  hear  organ  tones,  see 

F 


66  TflE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

something  red,'  and  the  just  as  immediately  resulting  certainty, 
'therefore  I  am'?  It  is  impossible  to  see  how  from  the  co- 
operation of  the  atoms  consciousness  can  result.  Even  if  I 
were  to  attribute  consciousness  to  the  atoms,  that  would  neither 
explain  consciousness  in  general,  nor  would  that  in  any  way 
help  us  to  understand  the  unitary  consciousness  of  the 
individual."  l  In  the  conclusion  of  his  chapter  on  "  Force  and 
Matter,"  after  reviewing  the  atomic  theory,  Lange  says  :  "  In 
the  present  state  of  the  natural  sciences,  matter  is  everywhere 
the  unknown,  force  the  known,  element.  If  instead  of  force 
we  rather  talk  of  a  '  property  of  matter,'  we  must  beware  of  a 
'  logical  circle.'  A  '  thing  '  is  known  to  us  by  its  properties ;  a 
subject  is  determined  by  its  predicates.  But  the  '  thing  '  is,  in 
fact,  only  the  resting-place  demanded  by  our  thought.  We 
know  nothing  but  properties  and  their  concurrence  in  an  un- 
known something,  the  assumption  of  which  is  a  figment  of  our 
mind,  though,  as  it  seems,  an  assumption  made  necessary  and 
imperative  by  our  organisation."  3 

It  is  idle  to  imagine  that  anything  is  gained  to  the  cause  of 
materialism  by  appealing  to  the  reflex  movements  in  which 
we  find  the  body  accomplishing,  without  the  aid  of  thought, 
operations  hitherto  attributed  to  the  conscious  action  of  the 
mind  ;  this  would  be  to  forget  that  the  body  itself  is  only  one  of 
our  representations.  In  short,  as  a  medium  of  knowledge,  ma- 
terialism occupies  decidedly  the  lowest  rank.  No  system  would 
lead  more  rapidly  to  what  is  called  in  England  pure  agnosti- 
cism, which  is  nothing  else  than  absolute  scepticism.  The 
human  mind  has  never  been  able  to  adhere  to  it ;  it  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  scepticism  not  to  be  able  to  state  its  position 
without  impugning  it,  for  it  has  not  the  right  to  recognise  even 
doubt.  To  affirm  a  doubt,  is  to  affirm.  On  the  other  hand, 
total  negation  is  impossible ;  for  in  order  to  deny,  we  must 
suppose  a  foregoing  affirmation.  Absolute  negation  once 

1  "History  of  Materialism,"  Lange,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  310,  311. 
8  Ibid,  pp.  389,  390. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  67 

reached,  mind  expires  and  science  is  extinct.  To  attempt  to 
prove  scepticism,  is  moreover  to  take  reason  for  granted,  or  to 
consent  to  prove  nothing.  Again,  all  argument  has  a  purpose 
in  view,  it  aims  to  convince ;  it  carries  with  it,  practically  at 
least,  the  idea  of  an  end.  To  take  away  this,  is  to  abandon  the 
attempt  to  establish  anything  whatever.  In  order  to  prove  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  finality,  we  imply  its  existence.1 
Lastly,  if  materialism  is  right,  what  is  the  use  of  demonstrating 
and  arguing  ?  Our  system  is  the  result  of  a  fatality  ;  it  depends 
on  the  state  of  our  brain  :  stat  mole-  sua.  Thus  materialism, 
which  has  so  often  crowned  itself  king  of  science,  renders 
science  impossible.  So  far  from  being  its  last  utterance,  it 
can  scarcely  lisp  its  first  syllable. 

Scepticism  is  the  natural  consequence  and  the  just  mead  of 
the  materialism  which  recognises  no  life  but  that  of  sensation, 
necessarily  fluctuating  and  evanescent  in  its  character,  and 
which  is  not  only  incapable  of  discerning  between  the  true  and 
the  false,  but  even  of  admitting  the  distinction.  This  scepti- 
cism has  found  no  more  decisive  refutation  than  that  offered 
to  it  by  the  two  great  philosophers  of  Greece.  The  reasoning 
of  Plato  in  the  "Theaetetus**  is  conclusive.  We  know  that 
Protagoras,  who  also  believed  only  in  sensible  observation, 
concluded  that  man  is  the  measure  of  all  things,  and  that 
as  he  is  carried  along  in  the  perpetual  flux  of  sensation,  this 
measure  has  no  more  fixity  than  he  himself.  The  theories  of 
Protagoras  have  been  taken  up  again  in  our  day,  and  have 
found  an  able  apologist  in  the  illustrious  historian  Grote.  We 
turn  to  the  immortal  pages  of  the  great  Greek  philosopher,  in 
which,  with  keen  dialectics,  he  gives  to  the  thesis  of  sceptical 
sensationism  the  reductio  ad  absurdum.  Plato  shows  that  in  this 
conflict  of  affirmations  and  negations,  all  equally  plausible,  man 
cannot  even  affirm  whether  he  is  cold  or  hot,  that  sensation 
itself  is  impossible,  for  it  can  never  find  the  second  of  time; 

1  Charles  Secretan.  "Discours  Laiques,"  p.  9. 


68  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

necessary  to  fix  the  object,  which  ever  eludes  his  grasp  in  the 
vortex  that  hurries  him  on.  Knowledge  of  the  past  is  impos- 
sible, for  to  sensation  the  past  is  nothing.  Science  has  no 
advantage  over  ignorance,  discussion  is  an  idle  game,  for  it 
can  never  lead  to  anything. 

In  opposition  to  all  sceptical  doctrines,  more  or  less  material- 
istic, Aristotle  formulates  with  inimitable  force  the  fundamental 
axiom  of  dialectics,  the  principle  of  contrariety,  which  is  abso- 
lutely opposed  to  the  idea  that  a  thing  can  be  and  can  not  be 
at  the  same  time,  and  that  contraries  may  be  equally  true. 
"  Since  it  is  impossible  that  contradiction  should  be  true  of 
the  same  subject  at  the  same  time,  it  is  evident  that  neither 
can  contraries  possibly  subsist  at  the  same  time  in  the  same 
subject.  For  indeed  of  contraries  one  or  other  is  not  the  less 
privation.  But  privation  of  substance  is  negation  from  some 
definite  genus.  If,  therefore,  it  is  impossible  at  the  same  time 
to  affirm  and  deny  with  truth,  it  is  impossible  that  also  contra- 
ries should  be  inherent  in  the  same  subject  at  the  same  time; 
but  either  both  must  be  inherent  partially,  or  the  one  partially 
and  the  other  simply  or  absolutely."  l 

This  discussion  leads  us  then,  in  conclusion,  to  some  very 
important  and,  as  we  hold,  incontestable  results.  We  are 
justified  in  affirming  that  knowledge,  even  in  its  lowest  form, 
cannot  dispense  with  an  element  of  a  priori^  under  pain  of 
losing  itself  in  the  void  and  in  nothingness.  The  inductive 
method  of  Positivism  constrains  us,  as  we  have  seen,  to  rise 
above  mere  sensation,  which  does  not  allow  us  to  predicate 
and  to  formulate  for  the  future  the  permanent  relation  of  ante- 
cedents and  consequents,  since  this  implies  subjective  activity. 
The  school  which  holds  the  theory  of  association  can  never 
succeed  in  dissolving  away  the  idea  of  causation  into  the  simple 
relation  of  antecedent  and  consequent,  for  this  would  deprive 

1  "  The  Metaphysics  of  Aristotle,"  Bohn's  Edition,  Book  III.,  chap.  vi. 
p.  1 06. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  6$ 

the  idea  of  its  essential  fruitfulness.  Again,  it  has  not  been 
able  to  reduce  the  ego  to  a  mere  link  in  the  series  of  pheno- 
mena, for  it  is  a  link  which  distinguishes  itself  from  the  rest, 
and  is  conscious  of  itself.  The  very  power  of  associating 
ideas  and  forming  syntheses,  pre-supposes  an  internal  activity, 
which  cannot  be  itself  a  mere  association ;  for  in  order  to  pro- 
duce it  an  associative  faculty  is  needed,  and  we  should  only 
have  put  the  difficulty  a  step  further  back.  In  the  same  way 
neither  time  nor  space  can  be  deduced  from  experience,  for 
before  we  can  find  them  we  must  put  them  there,  since  mere 
succession  or  co-existence  do  not  exhaust  the  idea  of  time  and 
space.  We  have  shown  then  that  neither  the  idea  of  causation 
nor  the  ideas  of  time,  of  space,  and  of  substance,  flow  from 
even  our  combined  sensations ;  for  these  ingenious  combina- 
tions imply  an  anterior  activity.  The  merely  materialistic 
explanation  has  been  baffled  by  the  impossibility  of  reduc- 
ing thought  to  mere  molecular  motion.  It  has  found  its 
reductio  ad  absurdum  in  the  scepticism  to  which  it  neces- 
sarily brings  us  by  destroying  even  the  most  general  condi- 
tions of  science.  We  conclude  then  that  without  leaving  the 
lines  laid  down  by  the  empirical  school,  we  find  ourselves 
carried  above  and  beyond  it.  We  are  constrained  to  admit 
an  element  of  d  priori  in  knowledge,  an  element  that  we 
cannot  find  except  in  the  subject  who  knows.  It  remains 
for  us  now  to  determine  this  element  with  exactness,  and 
to  see  in  what  mode  and  measure  it  leads  us  to  the  object, 
to  natural  phenomena. 1 

1  See  M.  Francisque  Bouillier's  work,  " Sur  la  Vraie  Conscience"  (Paris, 
Hachette,  1882),  for  an  able  treatment  of  all  that  relates  to  the  conscious 
ego.  The  author  displays  great  acuteness  of  psychological  analysis.  After 
showing  that  thought  cannot  be  reduced  to  cerebral  motion,  he  shows  in 
the  consciousness  a  faculty  at  once  innate  and  sovereign,  which  has  no 
separate  domain,  but  is  inseparable  from  all  the  intellectual  or  moral  mani- 
festations of  the  life  of  the  ego.  Thought,  feeling,  will,  deprived  of  con- 
sciousness, have  no  true  existence.  Reflection  on  the  fact  of  consciousness 
is  progressive ;  but  the  fact  of  consciousness  itself  is  inherent  in  the  psychi- 


70  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

Before  passing  on  to  this  important  study,  we  may  be  per 
mitted  to  take  advantage  of  the  undeniable  fact  that  the 
empirical  school  itself,  in  its  most  eminent  representatives,  has 
contrived  to  make  an  opening  in  this  thick  wall  of  materialistic 
phenomenalism,  behind  which  it  would  keep  us  aloof  from 
what  it  calls  metaphysical  divagations.  We  have  already  refer- 
red to  its  famous  but  untenable  theory  of  the  unknowable,  for- 
mulated with  so  much  precision,  and  as  completely  forgotten  in 
a  system  which  logically  admits  nothing  beyond  our  sensations 
and  their  combinations.  With  Stuart  Mill,  towards  the  close 
of  his  life,  it  is  quite  different.  There  is  an  ever-growing 
aspiration  after  that  region  of  the  Divine  from  which  he  had 
been  so  long  exiled  during  the  whole  course  of  that  arid  edu- 
cation, the  desiccating  effects  of  which  his  autobiography 
describes  so  forcibly.1  A  deep  passionate  affection  for  a 
woman  with  a  head  as  large  as  her  heart,  satisfied  to  a  degree 
the  craving  for  an  infinite  love  which  had  tortured  him.  He 
carried  into  this  affection  the  exalted  fervour  of  religious  feel- 
ing. But  he  did  not  rest  here,  as  we  see  from  the  last  of  his 
"  Essays  on  Religion,"  written  shortly  before  his  death.  No 
one  will  accuse  Stuart  Mill  of  having  written  one  of  those 
retractations  in  extremis  which  abruptly  break  off  the  whole 
thread  of  previous  thought.  We  find  the  man  himself  in  this 
remarkable  paper,  with  all  his  keen  subtle  logic,  so  quick  in 
disintegrating  ideas,  in  weighing  arguments,  in  showing  the 
inanity  of  those  which  are  based  upon  prejudice  alone,  even 
though  it  were  the  most  respectable.  Stuart  Mill  is  as  severe 
as  Kant  upon  the  ordinary  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God. 
He  even  commits  the  error  of  rejecting  that  which  is  based 

cal  life  from  its  commencement.  Consciousness  is  indivisible,  and  must 
rule  all  the  manifestations  of  our  feelings,  our  thoughts,  our  will ;  or  mind 
ceases  to  be.  Consciousness  cannot  be  explained  by  succession,  which 
it  alone  explains.  M.  Bouillier  concludes  by  showing  how  chimerical  is 
the  attempt  to  form  a  psychology  without  assuming  the  soul. 
1  "Autobiography."  Stuart  Mill. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  71 

upon  moral  obligation.  He  entirely  repudiates  all  that 
approaches  the  supernatural ;  and,  although  he  allows  the 
theoretic  possibility  of  miracles,  he  takes  up  Hume's  bitter 
polemics  against  the  external  evidence.  His  conclusions  are 
strange.  He  regards  it  as  probable  that  the  First  Cause  has  but 
a  limited  power,  and  that  it  had  to  contend  in  the  beginning, 
like  the  demiurge  of  the  Gnostics,  against  matter  eternal  and 
resistant. 

It  is  clear  we  have  to  do  here  with  a  genuine  freethinker 
who  bows  to  no  authority.  It  is  all  the  more  remarkable  to 
find  him  accepting  for  the  first  time,  with  the  principle  of 
finality,  a  sort  of  creative  power,  limited  by  rival  powers,  the 
*  influence  of  which  would  alone  explain  the  great  anomalies  of 
nature.  Stuart  Mill  does  not  admit  the  ordinary  proofs  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul;  he  believes  nevertheless  in  its  pos- 
sibility. Let  us  quote  his  own  words  :  "  All  things  in  nature 
perish ;  the  most  beautiful  and  perfect  being,  as  philosophers 
and  poets  alike  complain,  the  most  perishable.  .  .  .  Why 
should  it  be  otherwise  with  man?  Why,  indeed?  But  why 
also  should  it  not  be  otherwise  ?  Feeling  and  thought  are  not 
merely  different  from  what  we  call  inanimate  matter,  but  are 
at  the  opposite  pole  of  existence,  and  analogical  inference  has 
ittle  or  no  validity  from  the  one  to  the  other.  .  .  .  All 
matter,  apart  from  the  feelings  of  sentient  beings,  has  but  a 
hypothetical  and  unsubstantial  existence  ;  it  is  a  mere  assump- 
tion to  account  for  our  sensations.  .  .  .  Mind,  or  what- 
ever name  we  give  to  what  is  implied  in  consciousness  of  a 
continued  series  of  feelings,  is,  in  a  philosophical  point  of 
view,  the  only  reality  of  which  we  have  any  evidence,  and  no 
analogy  can  be  recognised  or  comparison  made  between  it  and 
other  realities,  because  there  are  no  other  known  realities  to 
compare  it  with." 1 

1  "Three    Essays  on    Religion."     J.    Stuart   Mill.      "Immortality," 
pp.  202,  203. 


72  THF.   PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

This  does  not  indeed  suffice  to  prove  the  immortality  of  the 
soul ;  but  the  hope  is  at  least  permitted  ;  and  the  future  life,  if 
it  becomes  our  heritage,  will  preserve  to  us  the  most  precious 
privilege  of  the  present  life,  that  of  perfecting  ourselves  by  our 
own  efforts.  As  to  religion  itself,  without  being  able  to  esta- 
blish it  by  irrefutable  proofs,  it  also  may  become  the  object  of 
our  hopes.  It  is  far  from  being  without  value.  It  makes  life 
and  human  nature  objects  of  higher  worth  for  the  heart;  it 
lends  more  force,  as  well  as  greater  solemnity,  to  all  the  feel- 
ings which  are  awakened  in  us  by  our  fellows  ;  it  softens  the 
impression  produced  by  that  irony  of  nature  which  becomes  so 
painful  when  we  see  a  whole  life  of  effort  and  sacrifice  building 
and  shaping  a  wise  and  noble  soul  which  is  straightway  doomed 
to  vanish  away.  "  It  cannot  be  questioned,"  says  Stuart  Mill, 
"that  the  undoubting  belief  of  the  real  existence  of  a  Being 
who  realises  our  own  best  ideas  of  perfection,  and  of  our  being 
in  the  hands  of  that  Being  as  the  ruler  of  the  universe,  gives 
an  increase  of  force  to  these  feelings  beyond  what  they  can 
receive  from  reference  to  a  mere  ideal  conception.  .  .  . 
The  most  valuable  part  of  the  effect  of  Christianity  on  the 
character,  has  been  produced  by  holding  up  in  a  Divine  Person 
a  standard  of  excellence  and  a  model  for  imitation.  .  .  ". 
And  whatever  else  may  be  taken  away  from  us  by  rational 
criticism,  Christ  is  still  left,  a  unique  figure  not  more  unlike 
all  His  precursors  than  all  His  followers,  even  those  who  had 
the  direct  benefit  of  His  personal  teaching.  .  .  .  Nor 
would  it  be  easy,  even  for  an  unbeliever,  to  find  a  better 
translation  of  the  rule  of  virtue  from  the  abstract  into  the  con- 
crete, than  to  endeavour  so  to  live  that  Christ  would  approve 
his  life.  .  .  .  Impressions  such  as  these  seem  to  me  ex- 
cellently fitted  to  aid  and  fortify  that  real  though  purely 
human  religion  which  sometimes  calls  itself  the  religion  of 
humanity  and  sometimes  that  of  duty.  .  .  .  In  the  battle 
which  is  constantly  going  on  between  the  powers  of  good  and 
those  of  evil,  the  humblest  human  creature  is  not  incapable  of 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  73 

taking  some  part ;  and  even  the  smallest  help  to  the  right  side 
has  its  value  in  promoting  the  very  slow  and  often  almost  in- 
sensible progress  by  which  good  is  gradually  gaining  ground 
from  evil,  yet  gaining  it  so  visibly  at  considerable  intervals,  as 
to  promise  the  very  distant  though  not  uncertain  final  victory 
of  good."  1  We  do  not  disguise  from  ourselves  the  insufficiency 
of  a  religion  thus  reduced  to  the  state  of  pure  hypothesis,  of 
which  there  is  no  scientific  indication,  and  which  is  finally  left 
out  of  the  system.  But  such  an  inconsistency  on  the  part  of 
so  great  a  dialectician  shows  the  power  of  the  grandest  of 
human  facts,  which  only  frivolity  or  prejudice  can  set  aside 
in  the  explanation  of  things.  The  author  of  the  "  History 
of  Materialism  "  assigns  to  it  a  yet  larger  place  in  the  con- 
clusion of  a  book  which  purports  to  eliminate  all  meta- 
physical entities.  After  extolling  the  benefits  conferred  by 
Materialism,  in  a  scientific  point  of  view,  by  its  exclusive  de- 
votion to  facts, — that  is  to  say,  to  the  sum  of  the  phenomena 
perceived  by  the  senses, — without  falling  into  the  illusion  of  a 
reality  independent  of  ourselves,  Lange  pronounces  the  severest 
judgment  upon  its  morality.  He  denounces  utterly  the  cold 
egoism  which  lowers  and  debases  the  soul.  "  Materialism, 
useful  as  a  counterpoise  to  the  metaphysical  fetishes  which 
would  intrude  into  the  essence  of  the  real,  remains  an  utter 
stranger  to  the  highest  functions  of  the  human  spirit."  "  For 
the  universe,  as  mere  natural  science  enables  us  to  comprehend 
it,"  says  Lange.  "we  can  as  little  feel  enthusiasm  as  for  an 
Iliad  spelt  out  letter  by  letter.  But  if  we  embrace  the  whole 
as  a  unity,  then  in  the  act  of  synthesis  we  bring  our  own  na- 
ture into  the  object;  just  as  we  shape  the  landscape  that  we 
gaze  at  into  harmony,  however  much  disharmony  in  particular 
may  be  concealed  by  it.  All  comprehension  follows  aesthetic 
principles,  and  every  step  towards  the  universal  is  a  step 
toward  the  ideal."  3  This  ideal,  perceived  by  poetry,  is  the 

1  "Three  Essays  on  Religion,"  J.  Stuart  Mill,  pp.  255,  256. 

2  "  History  of  Materialism,"  vol.  iii.,  p.  341. 


74  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

real  good  conferred  by  religion  which  has  enwrapped  it  in  its 
mythology.  Rationalism  loses  itself  in  the  sands  of  platitude 
without  getting  rid  of  its  untenable  dogmas.  Poetry,  through 
the  myths  of  religion,  lifts  us  to  the  ideal ;  it  carries  us  beyond 
the  real.  Religion,  thus  considered,  deserves  the  love  of  the 
most  scientific  minds.  "  The  victory  over  disintegrating  egoism 
and  deadly  chillness  of  the  heart,  will  only  be  won  by  a  great 
ideal,  which  shall  appear  amidst  the  wondering  peoples  as  a 
*  stranger  from  another  world,'  and  by  demanding  the  impos- 
sible shall  burst  the  prison-doors  of  reality.  .  .  Whether  the 
battle  remains  a  bloodless  conflict  of  minds,  or  whether,  like 
an  earthquake,  it  throws  down  the  ruins  of  a  past  epoch  with 
thunder  into  the  dust,  and  buries  millions  beneath  the  wreck, 
certain  it  is  that  the  new  epoch  will  not  conquer  unless  it  be 
under  the  banner  of  a  great  idea  which  sweeps  away  egoism 
and  sets  human  perfection  in  human  fellowship,  as  a  new  aim 
in  the  place  of  the  restless  toil  which  looks  only  to  personal 
gain."1 

The  vague  character  of  this  purely  aesthetic  idealism  is 
obvious  at  once,  but  it  is  none  the  less  of  the  highest  interest. 
After  all,  this  ardent  aspiration  after  the  good,  after  love,  is 
a  fact  inherent  in  man.  As  it  cannot  be  reduced  to  a  merely 
mechanical  state,  as  it  is  neither  a  fluid  nor  a  movement,  it  is 
something  sui  generis  which  does  not  belong  to  simply  phe- 
nomenal representations,  the  result  of  the  impressions  of  the 
senses.  Here  is  an  element  apart.  We  find  in  the  depths 
of  the  human  soul  the  place  that  belongs  of  right  to  this 
sublime  stranger  whom  Lange  invokes  to  win  the  victory 
for  the  ideal.  We  are  thus  entitled  to  say,  that  whenever  he 
appears  again  among  us,  he  is  coming  unto  his  own.  Whether 
he  has  yet  appeared  or  no,  there  is  in  humanity  an  aspiration 
that  yearns  for  him  and  is  not  produced  by  outward  things.  We 
are  brought  face  to  face  with  the  a  priori,  not  in  the  realm  of 

1  "  History  of  Materialism,"  vol.  iii.,  pp.  355,  361. 


THE  NEW  PSYCHOLOGY.  75 

the  intellect  alone,  but  of  religion  also.  Only  its  basis,  as 
given  by  Lange,  is  far  too  shifting.  We  must  have  something 
more  substantial  than  this  splendid  nimbus  of  imagination  and 
sentiment.  We  must  have  the  rock  that  cannot  be  shaken, 
the  categorical  imperative,  if  we  are  to  attain  certainty. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  THE  CRITICAL 
SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY  AND  FRANCE.— HARMONY  OF 
CARTESIANISM  AND  KANTISM  SUGGESTED  BY 
MAINE  DE  BIRAN. 

WE  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  an  adequate  knowledge, 
even  of  sensible  phenomena,  cannot  be  derived  from  sensation 
alone  ;  since  this  allows  no  scope  for  induction,  that  is  for  evolv- 
ing the  law  of  the  future  from  the  confused  and  transitory 
elements  of  the  present ;  neither  can  it  supply  the  necessary 
link  of  causation  between  the  antecedent  and  the  consequent, 
nor  establish  the  identity  of  the  ego,  from  which  the  idea  of 
substance  is  derived.  In  short,  sensation  would  simply  carry 
man  along  in  its  rapid  current,  without  retrospect  and  without 
prevision,  if  he  were  not  able  to  control  it  by  his  own  proper 
energy.  The  notion  of  time  and  space  implies  a  boundlessness 
of  duration  and  extension,  which  must  ever  elude  the  grasp  of  the 
senses.  There  exists  then  outside  the  object  something  which 
is  called  the  subject  or  the  ego,  which  is  distinct  from  the 
sensations,  and  perceives  and  combines  them  by  its  proper 
activity.  This  subject,  which  is  not  a  mere  product  of  the  sen- 
sations and  their  combination,  has  in  itself  an  element  of  d 
priori^  by  means  of  which  knowledge  is  rendered  possible  to  it. 
This  is  an  element,  however,  which,  as  we  shall  see,  requires 
for  its  development,  to  be  brought  into  contact  with  internal 
and  external  phenomena,  but  which  has  nevertheless  a  virtual 
existence  prior  to  them.  Its  constituent  elements  are  those 
very  ideas  of  substance,  of  extension  and  of  time,  which  sensation 

76 


THE  CRITICAL  SCHOOL.  ft 

can  neither  explain  nor  produce.  We  want  now  to  know  how 
this  element  of  a  priori  is  brought  into  contact  with  the  object 
of  knowledge,  by  which  we  mean  all  that  is  not  simply  the 
subject  or  ego,  both  that  which  is  inferior  to  it  and  that  which 
is  above  it,  both  the  external  world  and  the  mysterious  do- 
main of  the  Divine,  supposing  that  both  exist,  and  that  they 
are  not  the  illusion  of  the  ego,  seeing  its  own  double  in  some 
sort,  as  is  asserted  by  extreme  Idealism,  which  maintains  that 
the  mind  can  no  more  go  out  of  itself  than  a  body  can  leave 
its  shadow. 

We  here,  at  the  outset,  come  in  contact  with  the  great  critical 
school  inaugurated  by  Kant,  and  carried  to  its  extreme  issues 
in  the  system  elaborated  with  so  much  power  by  M.  Renou- 
vier.  This  school  has  given  most  emphatic  recognition  to  the 
element  of  d  priori,  which  it  has  boldly  placed  above  and 
beyond  the  world  of  phenomena.  This  phenomenal  world  it 
has  more  and  more  sacrificed  to  the  d  priori,  for,  as  it  is  never 
apprehended  directly,  but  is  constantly  transformed  by  receiving 
the  impress  of  our  mind,  we  cannot  arrive  at  the  reality  under- 
lying it.  Kant  himself  admitted  that  this  substantive  reality 
did  exist,  though  it  was  constantly  eluding  our  reason  or  being 
modified  by  it  as  by  a  prism.  M.  Renouvier  refuses  altoge- 
ther to  allow  its  existence.  Tn  his  system  there  remains  nothing 
but  a  collection  of  laws  which  we  call  mind,  laws  which  have 
nothing  to  govern,  unless  it  be  our  conceptions,  which  are 
always  relative.  We  know  indeed  that  the  critical  school 
admits  another  order  of  realities — moral  realities — with  which 
it  primarily  occupies  itself,  and  that  it  surrenders  itself  to  the 
highest  inspirations  ;  but  it  seems  to  us  nevertheless  to  have 
been  carried  away  by  the  force  of  a  reactionary  movement. 
It  was  fully  justified  in  protesting  against  the  exclusiveness  of 
Descartes,  who  undoubtedly  made  the  intellectual  predominate 
over  the  moral  point  of  view  with  his  disciples ;  but  its  con- 
clusions nevertheless  appear  to  us  extravagant.  It  is  possible, 
in  our  opinion,  to  lose  nothing  of  that  important  aspect  of 


78  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

truth  brought  into  prominence  by  the  critical  school,  and  yet 
not  to  sacrifice  that  which  is  external,  both  beneath  and  above 
us.  The  critical  school  itself  furnishes  the  materials  for  the 
bridge  which  is  to  connect  the  subject  and  the  object — the  ego 
and  the  world.  Our  aim  must  be  to  bring  into  harmony  the 
two  greatest  philosophical  geniuses  of  modern  times— Descartes 
and  Kant. 


I.  DESCARTES  AND  KANT. 

Let  us  take  a  rapid  glance  at  the  movement  of  thought  in 
our  own  day  which  has  led  from  the  one  to  the  other,  and 
which  should  now  supplement  the  one  by  the  other.  We  shall 
not  forget  that  our  present  purpose  is  not  to  write  a  chapter 
of  the  history  of  philosophy.  We  refer  for  the  full  treatment 
of  the  subject  to  the  great  historians  who  have  traced  its  evolu- 
tion and  especially  to  the  originals  themselves.  We  shall  only 
touch  on  it  so  far  as  is  necessary  for  the  elucidation  of  the 
problem  of  knowledge,  as  it  has  presented  itself  to  us. 

The  more  we  read  the  "  Discourse  on  Method,"  and  the 
"  Meditations,"  the  more  are  we  convinced  that  Descartes  dis- 
cerned from  the  outset  the  true  solution.  He  too  admits  as  a 
consequence  of  contemporary  speculation,  that  the  knowledge 
of  bodies  does  not  of  itself  bring  with  it  any  certainty,  and  that 
this  knowledge  is  in  fact  the  most  difficult  of  all  to  attain,  since 
we  cannot  get  at  them  directly.  He  says :  "It  does  certainly  seem 
strange  that  things  which  I  have  recognised  to  be  doubtful,  un- 
known, foreign  to  myself,  should  be  more  distinctly  compre- 
hended by  myself,  than  that  which  is  true,  which  is  known,  which 
is  my  very  self  indeed.  .  .  .  And  now,  since  I  know  that  even 
things  corporeal  are  not,  properly  speaking,  perceived  by  the 
senses,  nor  by  the  faculty  of  imagination,  but  by  the  intelli- 
gence alone,  nor  are  perceived  in  that  they  are  touched  or 
seen,  but  only  in  thai  th^y  are  mentally  apprehended,  I  un 
doubtedly  know  that  nothing  can  be  more  easily  or  more 


DESCARTES  AND  KANT.  79 

evidently  perceived  by  me  than  my  own  mind."  1  We  are  thus 
referred  back  to  the  mind  as  the  first  source  of  knowledge. 
Setting  aside  all  preconceived  ideas,  in  order  to  admit  only 
what  is  in  strict  conformity  with  truth,  Descartes  makes  his 
very  doubt  the  starting-point  to  arrive  at  the  first  truth,  and  by 
this  means  he  obtains  the  criterion  which  will  thenceforth  serve 
to  guide  him.  To  doubt  is  to  think,  for  doubt  is  an  exercise 
of  thought.  But  to  think  is  to  be.  I  think,  and  therefore  I 
am.  This  first  result  is  beyond  discussion,  it  has  all  the 
characters  of  evidence ;  it  forces  itself  upon  us  as  an  indisput- 
able reality.  It  is  a  simple,  immediate  perception,  bearing  upon 
the  thing  itself,  prior  to  any  explanation  or  abstraction.  This 
perception  is  distinguished  from  the  notion,  which  implies  re- 
flection upon  the  nature  of  a  thing.  "  Here,"  as  says  M.  Olle' 
Laprune,  "  the  knowledge  of  the  thing  perceived  is  wrought  as 
it  were  by  the  thing  itself/'2  This  is  just  what  is  implied  in 
Descartes'  evidence,  "  I  think,  therefore  I  am."  In  thinking  I 
feel  myself  to  be.  It  follows  that  at  the  basis  of  knowledge  is 
the  intuition  of  being. 

The  famous  deduction  by  which  Descartes  establishes  that 
the  soul  is  essentially  thougJit,  in  opposition  to  matter,  is  well 
known.  Thinking,  he  would  say,  is  an  attribute  that  pertains 
to  me  :  it  is  the  only  thing  that  cannot  be  detached  from  the 
ego.  "  I  am,  I  exist,  is  certain  ;  for  how  long  though  ?  Cer- 
tainly for  so  long  as  I  think.  ...  I  am  then,  strictly 
speaking,  only  a  thing 3  that  thinks."  Evidence  is  always, 
with  Descartes,  the  criterion  of  the  true.  It  precedes  reason- 
ing, which  without  it  moves  in  a  vacuum.  Concentrating  his 
observation  on  the  thinking  ego,  Descartes  discovers  in  it, 
experimentally,  the  general  laws  of  knowledge,  to  which  all 
phenomena  are  subject :  "  Of  those  matters  which,  in  the 
ideas  of  corporeal  things,  are  clear  and  distinct,  there  are 

1  "Meditations,"  Descartes,  pp.  147,  151. 

8  Olle  Laprune,  "  De  la  Certitude  Morale,"  p.  24. 

3  "Meditations,"  Descartes,  p.  144. 


8o  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

some  which  seemingly  I  might  have  borrowed  from  the  idea 
of  myself:  namely,  substance,  duration,  number,  and  any 
others  of  that  kind ;  for  when  I  think  that  a  stone  is  a  sub- 
stance or  fitted  to  exist  by  itself,  and  also  that  I  am  a 
substance,  .  .  .  although  there  is  the  greatest  difference 
between  the  two  conceptions,  yet  in  respect  of  substance  they 
appear  to  coincide ;  and  in  like  manner  since  I  perceive 
myself  to  exist  now,  and  also  remember  that  I  existed  some 
time  ago,  and  since  I  have  various  thoughts,  the  number  of 
which  I  understand,  I  thus  acquire  the  ideas  of  duration  and 
number,  which  I  can  afterwards  apply  to  any  other  things."  l 

It  is  also  from  the  ego  that  Descartes  derives  experimentally 
the  principle  of  causation^  of  which  he  makes  such  grand  use 
in  his  theodicy,  for  he  traces  its  operation  in  that  free  activity 
to  which  he  assigns  so  large  a  place.  "  The  will  alone,  or 
liberty  of  choosing,  I  find  to  be  so  great  in  myself  that  I  can 
form  no  idea  of  a  greater;  so  that  it  is  pre-eminently  on 
account  of  this  that  I  apprehend  myself  to  present,  as  it  were, 
the  image  and  likeness  of  God."2  Thus  Descartes  has  dis- 
covered experimentally  in  the  ego,  the  great  laws  of  know- 
ledge. Taking  his  stand  upon  this  very  psychological  ex- 
perience, he  is  led  to  seek,  out  of  and  above  himself,  the  object 
of  knowledge.  He  says :  "  In  truth  it  is  manifest  by  the 
light  of  nature  that  there  ought  to  be  at  least  as  much  in  the 
total  and  efficient  cause  as  in  the  effect  of  that  cause ;  for 
whence,  pray,  can  we  assume  the  reality  of  the  effect,  unless 
from  the  cause,  and  how  could  the  cause  give  reality  unless 
it  had  it?  Hence  it  follows  that  nothing  can  be  produced 
by  nothing,  nor  yet  that  which  is  more  perfect,  i.e.  which 
contains  in  itself  more  of  reality,  from  that  which  is  less  perfect. 
And  this  is  evidently  true,  not  only  of  those  effects,  the  reality 
of  which  is  actual  or  formal,  but  also  of  ideas,  in  which  regard 
is  had  only  to  the  objective  reality.  .  .  .  And  although 
1  "  Meditations,"  Descartes,  p.  161. 

a/&v/.,  p.  173- 


DESCARTES.  81 

perhaps  one  idea  can  be  born  of  another,  yet  here  there  is 
not  given  an  infinite  progress  ;  but  there  must  be  an  arrival  at 
some  first  idea,  the  cause  of  which  is  like  an  archetype  wherein 
is  formally  contained  all  the  reality  which  is  in  the  idea  only 
subjectively;  so  that  by  the  light  of  nature  it  is  manifest  to 
me  that  the  ideas  in  me  are  as  it  were  images,  which  may 
well  fall  short  of  the  perfection  of  the  things  from  which  they 
are  taken,  but  cannot  contain  anything  greater  or  mere  per- 
fect. All  this,  the  longer  and  more  carefully  I  examine  it, 
so  much  the  more  clearly  and  distinctly  do  I  recognise  to  be 
true ;  but  what  at  last  do  I  conclude  from  this  ?  Why,  that 
if  the  objective  reality  of  any  one  of  my  ideas  is  so  great  that 
I  am  certain  that  neither  in  form  nor  in  degree  is  it  in  me, 
and  accordingly  that  I  cannot  myself  be  the  cause  of  this  idea, 
it  hence  necessarily  follows  that  I  am  not  alone  in  the  world, 
but  there  exists  likewise  some  other  thing  which  is  the  cause 
of  this  idea."  1 

The  very  doubts  and  aspirations  in  the  mind  of  man  are 
the  evidence  that  he  has  the  idea  of  infinite  perfection. 
Descartes  says :  "  I  clearly  understand  that  there  is  more  of 
reality  in  infinite  substance  than  in  finite,  and  consequently 
that  in  some  way  the  perception  of  the  infinite  was  in  me 
earlier  than  that  of  the  finite,  that  is,  of  God,  than  of  myself; 
for  on  what  principle  shall  I  understand  that  I  doubt,  that  I 
desire,  that  is,  that  something  is  wanting  to  me,  and  that  I  am 
not  altogether  perfect,  if  there  were  in  me  no  idea  of  a  more 
perfect  being,  by  comparison  with  which  I  recognise  my  own 
defects?"2 

It  only  requires,  then,  that  we  apply  the  principle  of  causation 
to  the  ego,  and  we  find  ourselves  at  once  lifted  above  it  to  its 
principle,  for  the  ego  has  the  idea  of  perfection  without  being 
itself  perfect.  This  idea  is  not  then  of  its  own  production  ; 
its  cause  must  be  higher  than  the  ego,  and  can  be  nothing 
but  God  Himself,  a  real  God,  since  reality  is  the  crown  of 
1  "Meditations,"  Descartes,  pp.  157-159.  2  Ibid.,  p.  162. 

G 


82  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE 

perfection,  which  would  not  be  all  conceivable  perfection  if 
it  had  not  a  real  existence.  Descartes  has  summed  up  his 
whole  thought  in  this  sublime  utterance,  which  has  been 
enlarged  upon  with  incomparable  eloquence  by  Bossuet  and 
Fenelon  :  "  While  I  am  turning  the  fixed  view  of  my  mind 
upon  myself,  I  not  only  discern  that  I  am  a  thing  incomplete 
and  dependent  on  another,  and  a  thing  that  aspires  to  the 
greater  and  greater  or  the  indefinitely  better,  but  I  also 
discern  Him  on  whom  I  depend,  to  have  in  Himself  all  those 
greater  things,  not  indefinitely  and  potentially  alone,  but 
actually  and  infinitely,  and  so  to  be  God."1 

Descartes  takes  his  stand  upon  the  Divine  veracity  to 
establish  the  reality  of  corporeal  existence,  which  in  itself 
appears  to  him  the  most  uncertain  of  all  things.  Nothing 
can  shake  this  argument  when  once  it  has  been  proved  that 
the  ego  is  not  the  simple  product  of  sensation,  and  that 
its  grand  intuitions  are  not  the  artificial  result  of  the  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  or  rather  of  images.  How  is  it,  then,  that 
Cartesianism  has  not  sufficed  for  the  mind  of  man,  and 
that  it  has  seemed,  for  a  time,  to  be  left  behind  by  new 
evolutions  of  philosophic  thought  ?  This  is  evidently  due  to 
its  deficiencies.  It  was  not  the  gravest  of  its  mistakes  that  it 
established  a  positive  and  untenable  dualism  between  thought 
and  matter,  which  it  reduced  to  a  mere  attribute  of  extension. 
The  development  of  materalism  in  the  succeeding  century  was 
the  reaction  against  this  exclusive  notion ;  but  it  failed  to 
correct  it  because  it  went  itself  exactly  to  the  opposite  ex- 
treme. The  critical  school  did  more  to  shake  it,  because, 
without  doing  injustice  to  its  elements  of  truth,  it  directed 
its  attack  against  its  most  vulnerable  point.  This  vulnerable 
point  is  perhaps  best  described  as  its  intellectualism.  It  must 
be  admitted  that  in  the  Cartesian  system  the  moral  aspect 
of  things  was  made  merely  secondary.  Nothing  could  be 
more  unjust  than  to  accuse  Descartes  himself  of  having 
l  "Meditations,"  Descartes,  p.  168. 


DESCARTES.  83 

ignored  it ;  we  have  already  seen  how  he  exalted  the  liberty 
of  the  will  as  the  distinctive  feature  in  which  man  bears  the 
likeness  of  God ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to  acknowledge  a  truth, 
and  another  to  give  it  its  proper  place.  Now,  it  is  undeniable 
that  Descartes  placed  intelligence  above  freedom  of  will,  as 
is  shown  by  his  very  fundamental  axiom,  /  think,  therefore  1 
am.  God  is  presented  in  his  system  far  more  as  the  infinite 
absolute  Being,  than  as  the  God  of  the  moral  law,  of  liberty, 
and  of  supreme  holiness.  He  is  to  be  apprehended  rather  by 
the  intellect  than  by  the  conscience.  The  limited  is  with 
Descartes  emphatically  the  imperfect;  the  illimitable  is  per- 
fection. We  can  well  understand  how  Spinoza,  the  inflexible 
logician,  confining  himself  to  the  arena  of  pure  dialectics, 
should  have  likened  perfection  to  that  infinite  substance  which 
knows  no  bounds,  to  which  any  determination  would  be  a  limit 
and  consequently  an  imperfection.  In  this  way  pantheism 
has  grown  out  of  Cartesianism,  by  straining  its  principle.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  Malebranche,  Christian  as  he  is  in 
tendency,  leaned  to  this  side,  sacrificing  human  liberty  to  the 
Divine  absolute,  which,  according  to  his  conception,  could 
admit  of  no  limitation  and  consequently  of  no  created  will. 
Leibnitz  seems  indeed  to  recognise  individuality  in  his  monad; 
but  he  does  not  really  restore  the  conditions  of  the  moral 
world,  for  man's  liberty  of  choice  is  swallowed  up  in  the 
optimism  which  makes  evil  the  necessary  shadow  of  good 
and  a  part  of  the  harmonious  whole.  This  optimism  is  still 
further  exaggerated  by  his  followers. 

If  the  Absolute  allows  of  no  limit  to  itself,  we  can  no  longer 
speak  of  the  liberty  of  the  created  being.  Now,  no  limitation 
of  the  Absolute  is  conceivable,  so  long  as  we  adhere  to  the 
notion  that  abstract  perfection  consists  primarily  in  a  sort  of 
extensive  and  not  intensive  infinity.  This  is  why  the  con- 
science necessarily  rebels  against  the  Cartesian  intellectualism. 
As  early  as  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  it  raised  a 
passionate  protest  against  it  through  the  voice  of  Pascal,  who, 


84  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

forgetting  Jansenist  predestination,  vindicated  with  his  in* 
cisive  eloquence  the  inalienable  rights  of  the  moral  intuition. 
Rousseau  pleaded  the  same  cause  with  all  his  oratorical  fervour. 
It  must  be  allowed  that  he  greatly  contributed  to  the  reaction 
of  the  critical  school.  Kant  felt  the  warmth  which  Rousseau 
had  breathed  into  the  atmosphere  of  his  age.  We  find  indeed 
little  trace  of  it  in  his  cold  philosophy ;  but  its  influence  is 
there  nevertheless.  The  lava  from  the  volcano  has  con- 
gealed into  the  solid  blocks  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  con- 
structions of  the  human  mind.  Kant  was  no  less  king  of  his 
age  than  Descartes  of  his.  What  we  want  for  our  own  age  is 
to  reconcile  and  to  balance  the  claims  of  these  two  royal 
minds. 

We  may  give  a  brief  outline  of  the  fundamental  principles 
of  Kant's  system  which  will  suffice  for  our  purpose.  The  em- 
pirical school,  as  we  have  seen,  derives  the  laws  of  the  human 
mind  entirely  from  the  objective,  from  the  world  of  sensation. 
Kant,  on  the  contrary,  makes  the  object  wholly  subordinate  to 
the  subject;  according  to  him,  we  only  see  things  through  the 
medium  of  our  mind,  and  consequently  we  project  ourselves 
into  the  things  seen.  It  is  not  the  things  themselves  that 
we  perceive,  but  the  things  transformed  and  modified  by  our 
mind ;  which  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  we  never  arrive  at  the 
reality  itself.  Kant  does  not  go  so  far  as  to  deny  the  existence 
of  things ;  for  the  irresistible  instinct  of  our  reason  implies  their 
existence.  There  is  the  thing  in  itself,  the  "JDing  an  sich? 
which  Kant  calls  the  noiimenon.  It  is  as  certain  that  the  nou- 
menon  exists  as  it  is  that  we  do  not  come  in  contact  with  it ; 
because  between  us  and  it,  is  our  mind.  This  always  compels 
us  to  place  things  in  time  and  space.  Now  time  and  space 
are  mere  notions,  which  we  derive  from  ourselves  and  which 
are  antecedent  to  all  sensations.  They  are  the  pre-existing 
moulds,  into  which  we  cast  things  by  an  inward  necessity,  but 
this  suffices  to  impart  to  them  a  wholly  subjective  character, 
and  to  prevent  our  apprehending  the  thing  itself.  The  thing 


KANT.  85 

in  itself  is  not  subject  to  the  laws  of  time  and  space,  since  these 
are  laws  of  our  own  mind  in  its  regards  to  sensation  ;  they 
are  the  laws  of  our  sensibility.  If  from  sensation  we  rise  to 
the  understanding,  we  recognise,  here  also,  d  priori  laws  not 
supplied  by  experience,  for  they  control  our  experiences  and 
consequently  modify  them  by  transforming  them  into  ideas 
and  sensible  representations.  The  smallest  judgment  which  we 
pronounce,  supposes  a  subject  to  which  we  add  an  attribute, 
and  so  implies  the  idea  of  substance.  We  cannot  think  with- 
out the  idea  of  cause,  an  idea  which  the  series  of  phenomena 
alone  is  incapable  of  producing.  We  must  observe  that  Kant 
never  asserts  that  these  great  categories  of  substance  and  cause 
are,  like  time  and  space,  purely  subjective.  He  recognises, 
as  M.  Charles  Secre'tan  has  said,  "the  essential  relation 
between  intelligence  and  truth ;  only  in  the  domain  of  pure 
knowledge,  this  truth,  this  reality,  is  not  apprehended  in  itself, 
because  the  senses  and  the  imagination  always  mingle  with 
our  thought.  We  cannot  think  of  being  and  of  cause  but 
as  events  in  time,  and  constant  succession  becomes  to  us  the 
symbol  and  equivalent  of  causation.  The  element  of  time 
mingles  with  all  our  thoughts  :  it  clouds  their  transparency  and 
prevents  our  arriving  at  an  understanding  of  the  truth."  x  It 
is  this  which  leads  Kant,  with  all  the  daring  of  a  pure  logician, 
to  set  aside,  in  the  domain  of  pure  knowledge,  all  the  Cartesian 
proofs  of  the  spirituality  and  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  of 
the  existence  of  God,  whether  cosmological  or  ontologicaL3 
The  subjective  element  of  sensibility  prevents  us  as  effectually 
from  apprehending  the  true  ego  as  from  apprehending  the  exter- 
nal world.  For  we  only  perceive  the  ego  subject  to  the  laws  of 
time  and  space;  it  is  therefore  already  an  ego  transformed.  The 
world  does  not  enable  us  to  arrive  at  any  conclusion  about  its 
Author,  because,  in  order  to  do  this,  we  must  know  things  as  they 

1  "  La  Philosophic  de  Victor  Cousin."     Charles  Secretan. 
*  SeeM.  Philippe  Bridel's  excellent  treatise,  "La  Philosophic  Religieuse 
de  Kant." 


86  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

are  ;  but  the  world  of  phenomena  is  the  product  of  our  own 
faculties.  In  short,  all  that  rational  psychology  professes  to 
demonstrate  with  reference  to  the  soul,  its  substantiality,  its 
unity,  its  immortality,  is  a  tissue  of  paralogisms.  We  confound 
the  mere  empty  form  of  thought  with  our  personality  as 
thinking  beings.  Rational  theology  falls  into  the  same  error, 
for  it  transfers  to  the  thing  in  itself  the  subjectivity  inherent  in 
the  thing  as  it  appears,  that  is  as  we  have  made  it.  It  is  our 
ever-recurring  error  to  identify  the  noumenon  with  the  pheno- 
menon, the  thing  in  itself  with  the  thing  as  it  appears. 

Kant  himself  reveals  the  motive  and  inspiration  of  this  truly 
Titanic  effort  to  reduce  the  world  to  a  simple  phenomenon, 
when  he  shows  that  it  is  vain  to  attempt  to  evolve  the  freedom 
of  the  will  from  the  succession  of  phenomena ;  for  in  a  world 
subject  to  the  laws  of  succession,  the  chain  of  cause  and  effect 
is  never  broken,  and  if  we  hold  to  this,  we  must  allow  Spinoza 
to  be  right.  Yet  without  free-will  the  moral  life  is  but  a  trea- 
cherous illusion.  Now  we  can  give  up  everything  except  the 
moral  life.  For  that  life  is  certain  with  a  certainty  not  merely 
direct  but  obligatory.  There  is  within  us  a  categorical  impera- 
tive which  admits  of  no  doubt ;  the  first  duty  is  to  believe  in 
duty.  Duty  is  not  open  to  discussion,  because  it  is  duty  ;  it  is 
itself  the  supreme  law.  Upon  this  the  practical  reason  insists.  It 
takes  little  account  of  the  negations  of  the  pure  reason;  or  rather 
it  makes  much  of  them,  for  they  have  set  it  free  from  that  law  of 
fatality  which  presses  upon  the  phenomenal  world,  subject  as 
it  is  to  the  inevitable  laws  of  succession.  We  must  be  on  our 
guard  against  introducing  into  this  domain  of  practical  reason, 
processes  of  knowledge  which  have  been  found  futile  in  the 
domain  of  pure  reason.  If  we  were  to  take  the  same  stand- 
point here,  and  attempt  to  prove  duty  and  conscience,  the 
proof  would  be  as  illusory  in  this  new  application  of  it,  as  in  the 
attempt  to  demonstrate  the  soul  and  God  by  psychological  and 
ontological  reasoning.  The  moral  being  would  vanish,  like  the 
thinking  being,  before  the  distinction  ever  subsisting  between 


KANT.  87 

the  thing  in  itself  and  the  thing  as  it  appears  to  us  through 
the  subjective  medium  of  our  knowledge.  Let  us  not  attempt 
then  to  prove  the  categorical  imperative  or  the  consciousness 
of  which  it  is  the  substance.  We  are  here  in  a  region  above 
knowledge,  in  presence  of  a  postulate  which  forces  itself  upon 
us,  not  by  any  evidence  whatsoever,  but  because  it  is  obliga- 
tory, because  it  is  duty ;  and  if  we  were  to  throw  doubt  upon  it, 
the  moral  life  would  perish.  This  postulate  restores  to  us  that 
faith  in  an  immortal  soul  and  in  a  just  God,  which  alone  gives 
the  necessary  sanction  to  the  moral  law.  Without  it  there  is 
no  basis  for  either  the  soul  or  God.  The  categorical  im- 
perative is  their  only  guarantee,  but  it  is  unassailable  since  it 
is  above  all  knowledge. 

We  could  not  give  a  better  summary  of  the  dominant 
thought  in  Kant's  system,  than  is  given  in  the  admirable 
commentary  upon  it  by  M.  Charles  Secre"tan.  He  says : 
"  The  moral  order  shines  by  its  own  light,  and  cannot  be 
called  in  question;  it  is  the  highest  interest  of  thought  to  keep 
it  unimpaired.  We  find  here  the  explanation  of  those  scepti- 
cal objections,  the  motive  of  those  subtle,  apparently  arbitrary, 
distinctions,  which  have  made  us  hesitate.  The  science  of 
nature  must  proceed  upon  the  supposition  of  the  universality 
of  natural  laws ;  that  is  to  say,  of  universal  necessity.  The 
very  conception  of  moral  order  is  based  upon  liberty.  The 
two  principles  are  irreconcilable ;  collision  is  imminent.  How 
is  it  to  be  prevented  ?  By  placing  the  two  contrary  principles 
on  two  different  levels,  and  assigning  to  each  its  own  world. 
The  science  of  nature  is  thought  turned  to  the  things  of  time 
and  space.  Let  us  reduce  time  and  space  to  the  rank  of 
appearances ;  the  theory  of  these  appearances  will  be  precisely 
the  same  as  if  they  were  realities,  and  will  render  us  the  same 
service ;  and  liberty  will  remain  the  law  of  the  world  of 
mind,  that  is,  of  the  true  world.  There  is  behind  our  apparent 
nature  something  which  is  not  of  time,  an  eternal  energy 
that  is  free,  and  makes  us  what  we  are.  It  is  true  we  know 


88  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

nothing  of  this  energy  ;  nevertheless  we  affirm  it,  because  we  are 
obliged  to  admit  it,  in  order  to  maintain  the  authority  of  the 
law  of  duty  ;  otherwise  we  should  be  irresistibly  led  to  explain 
away  the  moral  consciousness  in  vain  phenomenology,  and 
to  regard  it  as  an  illusion  of  the  mind.  Duty  is  then  at  once 
the  guarantee  of  the  intelligible  world  and  its  revealer.  Duty 
is  the  bond,  the  pivot ;  the  very  certainty  of  moral  obligation 
assures  to  us  all  the  rest.  If  duty  is  more  certain  than  all  the 
rest,  it  is  not  by  any  means  in  virtue  of  any  psychological 
necessity.  Nothing  in  the  world  can  prevent  our  suspecting 
that  the  often  importunate  voice  of  conscience  is  a  voice 
which  is  misleading  us.  No,  that  in  which  consists  the  original 
and  highest  certainty  of  duty,  and  the  true  foundation  of  all 
certainty,  is  simply  that  it  is  duty.  We  may  call  it  in  question, 
but  we  ought  not  to  do  so  ;  that  is  the  whole  secret.  The 
ponderous  framework  of  the  world  is  not  planted  upon  a 
rock,  it  is  poised  in  the  ether;  and  if  I  believe  in  liberty, 
my  belief  is  free." l 

We  see  how  unjust  are  the  attacks  made  by  those  who  call 
themselves  spiritualists  upon  this  noble  and  lofty  philosophy. 
The  Cartesians  who  condemn  it  forget  the  Spinozist  followers 
of  their  master,  who  brought  out  the  determinist  elements  of 
the  system  maintained  by  Leibnitz  himself.  A  powerful  re- 
action was  absolutely  necessary. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  would  remind  the  followers  of  Kant 
of  the  various  schools  of  pantheistic  idealism  which  have  all 
claimed  to  be  the  successors  of  the  great  philosopher  of  sub- 
jectivity. Fichte  refused  to  see  anything  but  the  ego  in  the 
world ;  Schelling,  in  his  first  system,  made  the  ego  the  hidden 
focus  from  which  everything  emanates ;  finally,  Hegel  showed 
the  Absolute  apprehending  itself  in  the  reason,  after  finding  its 
evolution  in  nature,  so  that  logic  becomes  only  a  development  of 
things  ;  and  we  must  not  forget  that  all  these  various  forms  of  the 
pantheism  of  to-day  have  proceeded  more  or  less  from  Kant.  I 
1  "  La  Philosophic  de  Victor  Cousin."  Charles  Secretan. 


KANT.  89 

know  indeed  that  Hegel  rejected  from  the  outset  the  postulate 
of  the  practical  reason,  and  that  he  thus  falsified  entirely  the 
doctrine  of  Kant  by  depriving  it  of  its  essential  element,  its  final 
cause,  so  to  speak.  But  it  is  none  the  less  certain  that  these 
great  pantheistic  idealists  of  Germany  would  not  have  pro- 
ceeded from  its  schools  if  the  subjectivism  of  pure  reason  had 
not  had  in  it  something  false.  When  once  an  impassable  gulf 
had  been  made  between  the  subject  and  the  object,  there  re- 
mained thenceforward  only  two  ways  open,  either  the  negation 
of  objective  knowledge  altogether,  or  an  exaggeration  in  the 
opposite  direction — the  identification  of  the  object  with  the 
subject,  which  is  the  real  root  of  all  forms  of  pantheism. 

Kant  himself  did  not  remain  faithful  to  his  own  principles  of 
criticism,  so  difficult  are  they  to  maintain.  After  having  placed 
in  a  sort  of  opposition,  the  practical  reason  which  gives  moral 
certainty  and  the  pure  reason  which  shuts  us  up  in  the  sub- 
jective as  in  an  inaccessible  citadel,  his  criticism  of  the  judg- 
ment, comprising  his  theory  of  aesthetics,  seems  to  admit  a 
certain  harmony  between  the  world  without  and  that  within. 
The  sentiment  of  the  beautiful  awakened  by  the  spectacle  of 
things  lias  a  general  or  universal  character.  How  would  this 
universality  be  possible  if  there  were  not  in  the  external  world 
a  principle  analogous  to  thought  as  the  basis  of  natural  objects? 
Kant  thus  recognises  that  the  study  of  nature  leads  us  to  the 
conception  of  finality,  for  it  brings  out  the  idea  of  an  end  or  aim. 
Unless  we  suppose  this  feeling  after  an  end  to  go  on  inde- 
finitely, which  would  be  tantamount  to  denying  it  altogether, 
it  must  arrive  at  a  being  who  is  his  own  end.  Now  this  being 
is  man,  considered  as  a  moral  agent ;  he  is  himself  the  end,  the 
aim  of  nature.  We  must  bear  in  mind  however  that  the  funda- 
mental axiom  of  Kantism  is  always  the  subjectivity  of  pure 
reason.  Kant  himself  acknowledges  this  in  these  significant 
words  :  "  The  foregoing  considerations  are  natural  to  our 
mind ;  but  we  should  deceive  ourselves  if  we  attributed  to 
them  any  scientific  value,  since  the  certainty  that  man  is  his 


90  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

own  end  is  not  derived  from  science,  but  belongs  to  the  moral 
order,  and  forms  properly  an  article  of  faith."  1 

We  are  convinced  that,  from  the  postulate  of  the  practical 
reason,  conclusions  may  be  drawn  which  point  to  the  ob- 
jectivity, the  reality  of  the  external  world.  The  categorical 
imperative  calls  us  to  action ;  in  order  that  this  action  may  be 
possible  it  is  necessary  that  the  environment  in  which  it  is  to 
take  place,  the  very  theatre  of  our  activity,  should  not  be  a  pure 
chimera,  else  the  action  commanded  by  the  categorical  im- 
perative itself  would  be  nugatory  and  the  moral  absolute  would 
vanish  away.  This  humanity,  which  I  ought  always  to  have  in 
view  in  order  to  give  to  my  acts  the  character  of  a  general  law, 
free  from  all  egoistic  individualism,  is  itself  a  world  outside  of 
me.  The  barrier  between  the  subject  and  the  object  is  thus 
removed.  We  may  further  urge  that  no  moralist  has  taken 
a  more  serious  view  than  Kant  of  the  tragical  reality  of 
moral  evil.  He  sees  in  it  primarily  that  which  he  calls  the 
predominance  of  the  sensible  interest  over  the  moral  law.  But 
this  sensible  interest  represents  the  action  of  the  world  of  the 
senses.  To  refuse  to  accord  any  reality  to  this,  is  to  make  evil 
nothing  more  than  an  illusion,  and  to  write  falsehood  on  a 
fundamental  dictum  of  conscience.  Remorse  itself  attests  at 
once  the  reality  of  evil  and  of  the  sensible  world,  without 
which  evil  would  not  be  possible.2 

We  may  arrive  at  the  same  result  in  another  way.  We  have 
seen  belief  in  God  arise  out  of  the  categorical  imperative.  The 
God  to  whom  duty  raises  us  is  a  holy  God.  Must  we  not  be- 
lieve with  Descartes  in  His  veracity,  without  which  He  would 
not  be  the  supreme  good?  Have  we  not  thus  a  guarantee 
that  there  is  a  fundamental  correspondence  between  the  laws 
of  our  mind  and  the  reality  of  things  ? 

Moreover  there  is  nothing  to  constrain  us  to  confine  our- 
selves to  the  doctrine  of  Kant.  It  has  been  remarkably  ex. 

1  "  Philosophic  de  la  Liberte,"  Charles  Secretan,  vol.  i.,  chap,  x, 

2  Ibid. 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN.  91 

panded  by  a  French  philosopher  of  the  beginning  of  this 
century,  one  of  the  most  original  thinkers  of  his  day,  who  was 
in  reality  too  far  in  advance  of  his  contemporaries  to  be  truly 
appreciated  at  the  time.1 

II.     MAINE  DE  BIRAN. 

Maine  de  Biran  is  known  to  us  principally  through  his  post- 
humous works,  which  were  published  in  the  first  instance  by 
M.  Cousin ;  but  the  most  important  parts  of  them  were  sub- 
sequently republished  with  a  valuable  commentary  by  M. 
Ernest  Naville.  Maine  de  Biran  seems  to  us  to  supply  the 
link  between  Kant  and  Descartes,  and  to  indicate  the  true 
synthesis  of  their  doctrines.  Kant,  as  we  have  seen,  makes 
the  notion  of  time  and  space  a  necessary  and  preliminary  form 
of  our  sensibility,  one  which,  by  impressing  itself  upon  our 
perceptions,  gives  to  them  all  a  subjective  character  and  puts 
on  them  the  impress  of  our  mind.  The  same  character  of 
subjectivity  is  to  be  traced,  according  to  Kant,  in  our  notions 
of  substance  and  cause,  which  partake  of  the  intuitive,  d- 
prioristic  element  of  the  human  mind.  The  great  merit  of 
Maine  de  Biran,  in  his  profound  psychological  studies,  is  that 
of  having  shown  that  there  is  in  these  intuitive  notions  some- 
thing more  than  the  formal  laws  of  mind ;  that  they  have  an 
experimental,  and  consequently  an  objective  basis,  in  the  ego 
itself.  Inasmuch  as  they  are  matter  of  experience  in  the  ego, 
in  the  exercise  of  its  spontaneous  activity,  they  are  not  reducible 
to  a  mere  form.  Here  we  set  foot  at  once  on  solid  ground ; 
knowledge  is  no  longer  a  simple  matter  of  faith.  It  was  a  true 
flash  of  genius  which  suggested  to  Maine  de  Biran  his  theory 
of  effort,  by  which  he  has  introduced  liberty  into  the  initial  act 
of  knowledge.  He  has  thus  broken  down  the  wall  of  separa- 
tion between  pure  reason  and  practical  reason.  To  think  is  to 

1  "GEuvres  Philosophiques  "  de  Maine  de  Biran.  Paris,  1841  "CEuvres 
Completes  "  de  Maine  de  Biran.  Paris,  1851. 


92  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

will ;  therefore  the  being  whose  existence  is  revealed  by  thought 
is  not  simply  a  reasoning  being,  as  he  is  represented  in  the 
famous  Cartesian  motto,  "  Cogito,  ergo  sum"  but  is  primarily  a 
free,  acting  being,  carrying  within  him  the  principle  of  the 
moral  life.  There  is  a  first  period  in  human  existence  which 
belongs  altogether  to  instinct,  to  blind  sensation.  The  man  is 
not  as  yet,  he  has  no  true  existence.  The  mind  begins  to  work 
from  the  moment  when  it  distinguishes  the  ego  from  the  non- 
ego,  that  is  from  the  external  object  which  up  to  that  time 
has  enveloped  it,  and,  as  it  were,  submerged  it  in  the  flood  of 
confused  sensations.  This  distinction  is  effected  by  an  effort, 
which  is  the  act  of  the  will  seeking  to  overcome  the  resistance 
of  the  body,  for  the  body,  however  linked  to  the  spirit,  is  yet 
external  to  it.  "  Effort  made  by  the  will  and  directly  perceived, 
constitutes  the  individuality,  the  ego,  the  primary  fact  of  the 
inner  sense.  I  shall  characterise  this  inner  sense  more  ex- 
plicitly as  the  sense  of  effort ;  the  cause  or  producing  force  of 
which  becomes  the  ego,  by  the  very  fact  of  the  distinction 
which  is  established  between  the  subject  of  this  voluntary  effort 
and  the  term  which  directly  resists  by  its  own  inertia."  1 

It  is  not  the  mere  action  of  the  organic  functions,  which 
makes  the  ego  conscious  of  itself.  "  Darkness  cannot  bring 
forth  light ;  the  activity  and  prevision  of  mind  cannot  be  pro- 
duced by  the  necessary  operation  of  a  mere  organism  without 
will.  The  circumstances  and  organic  conditions  of  animal  sen- 
sitivity and  motility,  under  which  the  soul  remains  unconscious 
of  itself,  are  certainly  not  the  same  as  those  which  serve  for 
the  first  manifestations  of  the  soul  as  an  active  force,  the  first 
developments  of  the  human  ego."2 

In  its  higher  form,  effort  is  called  attention.  It  then  directs 
the  action  of  the  organs  to  any  object  which  it  desires  to  know. 
Attention  implies  the  exercise  of  the  will.  By  raising  man 

1  "  CEuvres  Completes."     Maine  de  Biran.     Edition  Navillc,  vol.  i., 
p.  201. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  218. 


MAINE  DE  SIR  AN'.  93  . 

above  the  sphere  of  mere  sensations,  it  gives  to  the  ideas  upon 
which  it  fixes  itself,  a  vividness  proportioned  to  its  intensity. 
By  opposing  to  mere  inclinations  the  ideas  thus  intensified  by 
it,  it  initiates  the  moral  life.  In  its  highest  degree,  when  it 
bears  upon  the  mind  itself,  it  is  called  reflexion.  The  re- 
flexion which  makes  our  own  ego  the  object  of  our  attention, 
discovers  to  us,  in  its  very  operation,  the  origin  of  the  great 
ideas  which  Aristotle  and  Kant  had  made  the  categories  or  the 
^  priori  element  of  the  human  will.  The  act  of  will,  which  by 
its  own  effort  has  constituted  the  ego,  gives  it  the  notion  of 
causation,  since  the  ego,  willing  and  acting  by  effort,  feels 
itself  to  be  the  cause  of  its  result ;  and  the  essence  of  this 
cause  is  its  freedom.  On  this  point  Mansel  arrives  at  the 
same  result  as  Maine  de  Biran,  by  substituting  for  muscular 
effort  in  the  production  of  the  idea  of  cause,  the  effort  of 
the  will  producing  its  proper  act,  namely  resolution.  The 
idea  of  force  is  the  corollary  to  that  of  effort.  The  subsis- 
tence of  the  ego  through  all  its  variations,  gives  us  the  idea  of 
substance,  which  is  derived  also  from  the  perceived  resistance 
of  the  non-ego.  The  succession  of  acts  of  the  will  implies  the 
idea  of  time.  Lastly,  the  primary  basis  of  the  conception  of 
space  is  found  in  the  close  and  direct  feeling  of  the  body  and 
of  its  parts,  which  arises  out  of  the  effort  made  to  overcome  its 
resistance.1 

We  must  admit  with  M.  Ernest  Naville,  that  Maine  de  Biran 
has  exaggerated  the  part  taken  by  our  subjective  experience 
in  the  formation  of  these  great  fundamental  ideas  of  the  reason. 
They  could  not  have  been  evolved  from  this  experiment  of  the 
ego  upon  itself,  unless  they  had  been  implicitly  contained  in 
it ;  for  the  mere  succession  of  phenomena  does  not  give  the 
notion  of  time  in  the  subject  any  more  than  in  the  object  In 
order  to  derive  the  idea  of  time  from  the  successive  willings  of 
the  ego,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  be  inherent  in  the  mind 
itself.  "Sight,  touch,  movement,  sensation,  would  never  give 
1  "  CEuvres  Completes."  Maine  de  Biran.  Introduction,  p.  57. 


94  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

us  the  notion  of  extension,  nor  our  conception  of  bodies, 
unless  it  were  inherent  in  us."  l  This  is  true  of  space  as  of 
substance  and  cause.  Maine  de  Biran  has  too  much  forgotten 
this  d  priori  element,  so  powerfully  established  by  Aristotle 
and  Kant  Reason  alone  enables  the  ego,  which  has  become 
conscious  of  itself  in  the  act  of  willing,  to  generalise  from 
the  conceptions  derived  from  this  first  experience,  and  to  con- 
clude that  they  are  universal  and  necessary  because  they  were 
present  in  it  as  primary  principles.  We  find,  in  fact,  in  the 
reason  itself  the  principles  of  unity,  substantiality,  causation, 
and  finality.  It  is  nevertheless  a  valuable  supplement  and 
corrective  to  Kant's  criticism,  to  have  it  shown  that  these 
principles  are  confirmed  by  experience,  and  are  vitalised  in  the 
activity  of  the  ego.  They  thus  cease  to  be  mere  moulds  and 
forms  of  thought ;  they  become  also  realities.  Yet  more ;  the 
initial  act  of  the  will — effort — has  revealed  to  us  the  existence 
of  the  body,  without  which  it  would  not  be  conceivable,  for  it 
is  the  body  which  offers  to  the  will  the  first  resistance  it  has  to 
overcome.  The  ego  arrives  thus  at  the  knowledge  of  itself, 
by  distinguishing  itself  from  the  non-ego,  and  it  makes  this 
distinction  by  the  mere  force  of  its  own  free  will.  Liberty  is 
thus  the  basis  of  the  intellectual  as  of  the  moral  life ;  the  dual- 
ism is  overcome. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  overstate  the  services  which  Maine 
de  Biran  has  rendered  to  philosophy  by  his  theory  of  effort, 
which  he  himself  sums  up  in  these  words :  "  I  will,  I  act, 
therefore  I  am.  ...  I  am  not  vaguely  a  thinking  thing, 
but  definitely  a  willing  thing,  which  passes  from  will  to  action 
by  its  own  energy,  as  it  resolves  within  itself  or  acts  beyond 
itself." 2  Here  again  Maine  de  Biran  requires  to  be  sup- 
plemented by  Kant,  for  he  has  too  much  neglected  the 
properly  moral  aspect  of  free  action,  that  which  belongs  to 
the  categorical  imperative.  It  is  not  enough  to  say,  "  I  will, 

1  "  Precis  de  Philosophic,"  Charles  Secretan,  p.  122. 
s  Maine  de  Biran,  vol.  iii.,  p.  413. 


RENOUVIER.  95 

therefore  7  am;  "  it  should  be,  7  will,  I  ought,  therefore  I  am. 
Only  in  this  way  is  the  Cartesian  formula  sufficiently  widened. 
It  is  not  my  being  only  which  is  thus  affirmed,  but  the  Being 
also  on  whom  I  depend ;  the  Being  who  commands  me  and 
constrains  me  to  say,  " 1 ought"  This  Being,  to  whom  my 
conscience  and  my  reason  alike  point,  is  not  only  an  infinite 
substance,  but  infinite  liberty,  since  He  is  the  Absolute  Good, 
the  eternal  type  of  the  moral  law. 

III.   FRENCH  CRITICISM. 

The  brief  refutation  which  we  have  given  of  Kant's  criticism, 
is  applicable  also,  we  hold,  to  the  French  philosopher  of  our 
day,  who  has  represented  the  Kantian  school  with  remarkable 
dialectic  power  and  a  most  salutary  moral  elevation.  M.  Renou- 
vier  has  not  contented  himself  with  the  conclusions  of  the 
"  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  he  has  carried  them  out  to  their 
furthest  issues,  for  he  does  not  admit  even  the  existence  of  the 
thing  in  itself — that  noumcmm  which  is  perpetually  eluding  us. 
The  boldness  of  his  negation  is  only  equalled  by  the  force  of  his 
moral  affirmation,  which  has  become  increasingly  religious  in 
one  in  the  last  few  years.  But  the  antinomy  between  science 
and  conscience  is  made  as  positive  as  possible.  We  should 
feel  ourselves  failing  in  respect  to  this  great  teacher,  whose  aim 
is  so  high  and  thought  so  vigorous,  if  we  did  not  frankly  own 
that  we  cannot  do  justice  to  his  system  in  the  brief  discussion 
which  is  all  we  are  able  to  give  to  it  here.  In  his  very  first 
Essay  on  General  and  Formal  Logic,  he  displays  an  admirable 
power  of  exact  criticism.  As  things  are  to  us  only  represen- 
tations, and  as  in  every  representation  there  must  be  a  corres- 
pondence of  the  subject  to  the  object,  we  cannot  get  beyond 
the  relative  ;  the  thing  in  itself  is  absolutely  unapproachable 
by  us,  it  has  no  essential  existence;  phenomena  are  all. 
Nevertheless  these  representations  are  subject  to  fixed  laws, 
which,  not  being  the  result  of  sensible  observation,  constitute 


96  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

an  d  priori  element.  In  this  we  find  the  categories.  There  is 
not  a  thing  in  relation  to  which  we  do  not  ask  the  questions, 
how,  how  much,  where,  when,  whence,  why,  which  represent  the 
relations  of  size,  quantity,  position,  figure,  extension,  quality, 
change,  cause  and  end.  All  these  categories  depend  on 
the  first  category,  which  is  that  of  relation,  for  within  us  and 
without  us  everything  is  determined  by  relation  \  that  is  to  say 
we  never  arrive  at  the  thing  in  itself — the  absolute  which  is 
the  opposite  of  the  relative.  The  absolute  is  the  being  in 
itself  and  by  itself — the  all.  How  can  we  possibly  arrive  at 
it  in  the  world,  which  is  but  a  collection  of  relations  and  repre- 
sentations ?  and  how  can  we  arrive  at  it  outside  the  world, 
where  it  is  nothing  more  than  an  abstraction  ?  The  totality 
cannot  be  apprehended  in  its  parts,  since  it  is  always  divided ; 
nor  can  it  be  conceived  apart  from  its  parts,  for  then  it  would 
be  no  more  a  totality.  Should  we  have  arrived  at  the  absolute, 
we  should  not  be  able  to  come  down  again  to  the  world,  for 
there  is  no  passage  from  the  single  to  the  manifold.  We  can 
only  conceive  contingent  causes,  for  these  contingent  causes 
would  cease  to  be  causes,  if  they  depended  on  a  primordial 
cause,  since  they  would  then  only  be  effects ;  and  the  first 
cause,  being  outside  the  world,  would  be  as  though  it  were  n  t. 
That  which  is  true  of  the  category  of  cause  is  true  of  all  the 
other  categories.  As  M.  Liard,  a  firm  adherent  of  the  French 
school  of  criticism,  has  said  :  "  Categories  are  nothing  else  than 
the  more  general  and  more  constant  relations  according  to  which 
we  combine  our  sensations.  Isolated  from  the  phenomena, 
they  express  only  abstract  possibilities.  If  we  attempt  by  their 
means  to  penetrate  into  the  absolute,  we  lose  ourselves  in  a 
vacuum.1  In  short,  to  use  M.  Renouvier's  words,  the  critical 
philosophy  leads  us  to  scientific  atheism,  by  the  distinctness 
with  which  it  eliminates  all  idea  of  the  Absolute.  "  There  is  no 
knowledge  of  anything  in  itself,  but  everything  presents  itself 
as  complex  and  relative  to  other  things  in  the  representation 
1  Liard,  "  La  Science  Positive  et  la  Metaphysique,"  p.  351. 


FRENCH  CRITICISM.  97 

to  which  it  belongs.  Every  phenomenon  is  defined  by 
opposition  to  other  phenomena.  The  word  *  being  '  expresses 
only  a  relation.  It  expresses  each  group  of  phenomena,  some 
particular  relations  of  which  are  given  and  defined."  l 

There  remains  however  a  grave  difficulty.  The  very  word 
"representation"  supposes  a  mind,  a  consciousness,  a  subject 
who  represents  to  himself  that  which  we  take  for  the  object. 
On  this  point,  M.  Renouvier  does  not  sufficiently  explain 
himself.  Consciousness,  with  him,  is  "a  collection  of  pheno- 
mena comprised  in  the  category  of  the  personality.  Every  living 
being  is  a  consciousness  which  perceives  things  as  represen- 
tations. We  are  constrained  to  admit  a  plurality  of  conscious- 
nesses, for  one  unique  primary  consciousness  including  the 
totality  of  phenomena  would  cease  to  be  a  consciousness  at 
all,  since  it  would  no  longer  be  able  to  distinguish  anything 
outside  of  itself,  and  the  very  idea  of  consciousness  implies 
this  distinction  of  the  ego  from  the  non-ego."2  As  to  the  sup- 
position of  a  first  consciousness,  to  which  all  the  phenomena 
that  have  appeared,  or  are  to  appear,  should  be  subordinated, 
we  do  not  understand  how  a  subdivision  of  the  Absolute  into 
fractional  consciousnesses  could  take  place,  or  how  it  can  have 
been  the  All  and  have  ceased  to  be  so.  Either  the  first  con- 
sciousness finds  no  limit  in  the  world,  and  then  the  world  has 
no  real  existence ;  or  it  finds  a  limit  and  then  itself  ceases  to 
be.  It  is  not  permissible  then  to  base  the  foundation  of  ali 
things  upon  this  "thing  in  itself"  undefinable  and  mysterious, 
from  which  all  things  have  emerged,  in  which  all  are  again 
merged,  which  is  both  immutable  and  the  starting-point  of  all 
the  changes  that  take  place.  "  In  the  sphere  of  knowledge  as 
of  human  society,  we  must  substitute  law  for  personal  govern- 
ment; and  adhere  to  pure  phenomenalism  regulated  by  the 
categories  of  reason."3 

1  Renouvier,  "Premiers  Essais,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  271. 

8  Ibid.,  vol.  ii.,  p.  287. 

*  Ibid.,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  251,  253. 


98  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

But  M.  Renouvier  does  not  stop  here.  He  does  not  admit 
that  this  speculative  atheism  leads  to  the  materialistic  and 
practical  atheism  which  he  abhors.  He  says:  "If  atheism 
meant  excluding  the  fiction  of  any  substratum  whatsoever, 
mind,  matter,  or  substance,  and  proposing  to  science,  not  the 
infinite,  impossible,  contradictory  All,  nor  the  universe  drawn 
from  nothing  by  the  power  and  for  the  satisfaction  of  a  primal, 
sole,  universal,  undefinable,  unintelligible  Being,  but  the  series 
of  laws  illustrated  by  the  visible  democracy  of  existences  in 
nature  and  in  the  heavens ;  if  it  meant  that  act  of  thought  by 
which  a  free  man  overturns  at  once  the  materialistic  or  pan- 
theistic idol,  and  dethrones  the  Absolute,  the  King  of  heaven 
(the  last  prop  of  the  kings  of  the  earth),  atheism  would  be  the 
true  method,  the  only  one  founded  on  reason,  the  only  positive 
method."  In  substance,  atheism,  thus  formulated,  amounts  to 
the  argument  of  Kant  against  the  cosmological  proof  of  the 
existence  of  God ;  for  French  criticism,  following  the  German 
philosopher,  recognises  faith  in  the  higher  realities  as  admissi- 
ble within  the  moral  sphere ;  but  as  it  has  gone  further  in  its 
metaphysical  negation,  it  is  likewise  reduced  to  formulating  a 
mere  belief.  True  to  its  highest  aspirations,  it  repels  with  in 
dignation  what  it  calls  "  that  religion  of  nothingness  which  is 
opposed  alike  to  our  most  steadfast  desires  and  our  most  sacred 
hopes."  We  can  but  ask  how  these  hopes  are  compatible  with 
the  utter  negation  of  the  Absolute. 

To  find  some  ground  to  rest  upon,  criticism  takes  refuge 
in  the  last  relics  of  the  notion  of  being  which  it  has  allowed 
to  remain.  We  have  seen  that  it  maintains  the  individual 
consciousness,  without  .which  representation  would  be  im- 
possible. It  does  not  matter  that  this  individual  consciousness 
is  nothing  more  than  a  grouping  of  phenomena,  embraced 
within  the  law  of  personality ;  it  postulates  nevertheless  the 
moral  idea ;  it  claims  the  right  to  believe  in  its  own  originating 
principle  and  in  its  own  issues,  which  may  reach  even  to  im- 
mortality, and  to  faith  in  God,  or  rather  in  the  Divine.  This 


FRENCH  CRITICISM.  99 

school  at  its  outset  inclined  to  a  polytheistic  conception ;  but 
this  it  has  gradually  abandoned.  "True  atheism,"  says  M. 
Renouvier,  "does  not  exclude  true  theism,  either  in  the  moral 
or  in  the  anthropomorphic  sense  of  the  latter  word.  All  the 
absolute  is  eliminated,  but  thought  seeks  a  fixed  point  beyond 
particular  phenomena.  The  ideal,  dismissed  from  the  world  of 
being,  reappears  in  the  ideal  of  moral  perfection.  Belief  in 
one  God  is  equivalent  to  the  affirmation  of  good.  A  field 
opens  to  free  belief,  beyond  the  sphere  of  science,  but  not 
hostile  to  it.  The  persistence  of  being  and  all  such  ultimate 
facts  may  result  from  the  laws  of  phenomena ;  the  existence 
of  one  or  of  many  gods  is  in  no  way  contrary  to  reason.  We 
can  thus  fix  our  attention  on  the  little  world  of  man  and  of 
consciousness,  where  we  shall  be  all  the  more  likely  to  find 
the  conditions  of  certainty,  the  more  we  turn  away  from  the 
great  world."1 

After  all  then  it  devolves  upon  the  free  will  to  lay  the  found- 
ation of  certainty;  it  is  a  moral  affirmation  that  we  need. 
Reason  is  nothing  else  than  the  man,  and  the  man  is  always  the 
practical  man.  We  start  from  ourselves,  from  our  moral  law, 
and  we  determine  what  ought  to  correspond  with  it  in  the 
heart  of  the  universe,  in  order  that  there  may  be  harmony. 
"There  is  no  certainty,  there  are  only  men  who  are  certain."2 
M.  Pilon  has  given  a  very  fair  summary  of  the  whole  system 
in  the  introduction  to  his  translation  of  Hume's  "  Treatise  on 
Human  Nature."  "  The  criticism  of  the  day,"  he  says,  "  recon- 
ciles Hume  and  Kant.  Something  is  wanting  in  Hume,  the 
idea  of  law ;  there  is  something  too  much  in  Kant,  the  idea 
of  substance,  expressed  as  the  noumcnon.  The  phenomenalism 
of  Hume  needs  to  be  joined  to  the  &  priori-ism  of  Kant.  This 
M.  Renouvier  has  done.  It  had  to  be  made  clear  that  the 
true  substance,  the  true  noumenon,  is  law;  that  no  other  is 
intelligible,  and  further  that  it  suffices  to  unite  the  d  //  iori 

1  "  Premiers  Essais,"  Renouvier,  pp.  283-289. 
*  llnd.t  vol.  ii.,  p.  15. 


ioo  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

with  the  phenomenal,  in  order  to  render  the  latter  compatible 
with  the  beliefs  postulated  by  morals."1  Thus  we  have  on 
the  one  hand  pure  phenomena  and  representations  which  are 
always  relative ;  and  on  the  other  categories  or  laws  of  repre- 
sentation ;  and  lastly  groups  of  phenomena  forming  the  person- 
ality, and  revindicating  as  pure  beliefs,  as  postulates,  the  great 
simple  moral  verities.  This  is  the  whole  system.  Never  was 
dualism  more  decided  between  metaphysics  and  morals,  and 
never  was  the  supremacy  of  the  categorical  imperative  affirmed 
more  emphatically  in  the  acknowledged  failure  of  all  meta- 
physical demonstration. 

We  are  not  prepared  to  admit  that  this  sort  of  coup  d'etat 
of  consciousness  is  all  that  is  left  to  us.  In  the  first  place, 
French  criticism  has  itself  introduced,  through  one  of  its  most 
distinguished  exponents,  a  very  important  modification  into 
its  theory  of  the  purely  relative  character  of  knowledge.  M. 
Liard,  in  his  remarkable  book,  "  La  Science  Positive  et  la 
Metaphysique,"  following  Herbert  Spencer,  but  avoiding  his 
inconsistencies,  has  established  that  the  very  conception  of  the 
relative  implies  that  of  the  absolute ;  that  whenever  we  speak 
of  the  relative,  we  implicitly  contrast  it  with  the  absolute,  which 
is  thus  recognised  by  the  reason  at  least  as  an  idea.  M.  Liard 
goes  even  further,  for  he  admits  that  there  is  a  lower  instinct 
which  is  perpetually  urging  on  the  intellect  to  seek  the  reason 
of  things,  thus  attesting  at  once  the  limits  of  our  knowledge 
and  the  existence  of  an  inscrutable  absolute.  "  The  sciences 
of  the  relative  are  perpetually  reaching  after  the  infinite.  The 
incessant  pursuit  of  the  absolute  by  the,  human  mind  proves 
that  the  relative  fails  to  satisfy  it." 2  This  intuitive  vision  of 
the  absolute,  coming  from  above  into  the  mind  of  man,  suffices 
to  prove  its  existence.  We  know  indeed  that  M.  Renouvier 
altogether  denies  that  the  mind  of  man  can  by  possibility 
arrive  at  the  absolute  ;  but  we  cannot  forget  that  he  recognises 

1  Pilon,  "Introduction,"  p.  6l. 

8  "  La  Science  et  la  Metaphysique,"  Liard. 


FRENCH  CRITICISM.  101 

it  as  a  duty  for  man,  as  a  moral  being,  to  believe  in  the  good 
by  an  act  of  free  will.  Have  we  not  here  the  solution  of  the 
supposed  contradiction  between  metaphysics  and  morals  ?  This 
free  act,  by  its  spontaneous  manifestation,  makes  us  apprehend 
liberty  as  a  reality.  By  what  right  can  reason  be  forbidden  to 
recognise  liberty  as  a  reality  outside  of  and  above  us  also  ? 
None  of  the  objections  urged  by  M.  Renouvier  against  the 
principle  of  causation  appear  to  us  conclusive.  "  I  am  free, 
I  feel  it,  I  own  it;  why  should  I  alone  be  free?  Why  should 
not  the  principle  of  my  being  be  free  also?"  If  it  is  so,  the 
great  objection  urged  by  French  criticism  against  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  first  cause  is  removed.  It  argues,  as  we  have 
seen,  that  there  cannot  be  a  first  cause,  because  one  of  two 
things  must  follow,  either  the  first  cause  is  absolute  and  hence 
must  efface  all  the  causes  which  we  recognise  in  the  world, 
or  they  are  real  and  it  is  limited  by  them,  in  which  case  it 
ceases  to  be  absolute.  Liberty  shows  us  a  way  out  of  this 
dilemma;  for  absolute  liberty  can  certainly  put  limits  on  itself, 
can  even  assert  itself  by  accepting  voluntarily  the  limitations 
imposed  by  the  created  liberty  of  which  it  is  itself  the  source. 
Reason  and  conscience  are  thus  alike  satisfied.  Again,  this 
individual  conscience,  which  M.  Renouvier  derives  we  know 
not  whence,  possessing  an  a  priori  element  which  is  the  law 
of  knowledge,  cannot  be  regarded  as  passive  in  the  very  fact 
of  representation.  It  must  group  the  phenomena  under  those 
great  laws  which  govern  it;  it  has  a.  power  of  reaction:  it  is 
not  a  passive  instrument.  Thus  we  find  ourselves  brought 
back  to  the  part  taken  by  liberty  in  the  very  fact  of  knowledge, 
as  defined  by  Maine  de  Biran.  The  problem  of  our  person- 
ality is  solved  by  that  very  liberty  which  is  one  of  the  primary 
facts  of  moral  certainty.  We  do  not  belong  to  the  purely 
relative,  for,  as  M.  Liard  says,  we  are  not  simply  carried  away  by 
our  sensations.  We  thus  escape  that  singular  explanation  of 
our  personality  as  a  mere  group  of  phenomena  included  in  the 
category  of  the  ego,  with  great  d  priori  laws  hanging  vaguely 


102  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

over  us.  That  would  indeed  be  a  strange  grouping  of  phe- 
nomena which  should  be  capable,  from  a  moral  point  of  view, 
of  displaying  actively  the  greatest  energy  in  willing  the  good 
and  believing  in  its  eternal  conditions.  Allow  that  this 
grouping  has  been  itself  a  free  act,  and  you  have  at  once  the 
ego  with  its  faculty  of  unification,  which  cannot  possibly  be 
classed  with  the  phenomenal.  Without  this  element  of  unity, 
we  fail  to  conceive  how  there  can  be  any  such  thing  as  a 
personality  at  all,  how  we  can  arrive  at  anything  but  the  in- 
definite multiplication  of  parts.  It  is  more  difficult  to  explain 
how  the  phenomenal  representations  are  linked  to  the  a  priori 
laws,  than  to  understand  how  the  subordinate  unities  are 
evolved  from  the  primal  unity.  We  can  simply  refer  to  the 
objections  we  have  already  made  to  the  subjectivism  of  Kant, 
which  apply  no  less  directly  to  the  French  criticism.  Faith 
in  duty  implies  a  real  stage  for  the  conduct  which  it  is  to 
regulate.  If  the  world  is  only  a  representation,  duty  is 
another,  for  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  metaphysical  phantom 
in  a  chimerical  world.  Duty  demands  the  standing  ground  of 
reality. 

While  making  these  reservations  with  regard  to  M.  Renou- 
vier's  system,  we  nevertheless  recognise  its  high  value.  No 
one  has  done  more  than  he  to  give  prominence  to  the  moral 
aspect  of  knowledge.  His  work  on  ethics  deserves  the  most 
careful  study. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    TRUE   SOLUTION   OF    THE    PROBLEM    OF 
KNOWLEDGE. 

IN  our  review  of  the  contemporary  theories  of  the  problem  of 
knowledge,  we  have  obtained  important  results  preparing  us 
for  its  solution. 

First. — It  is  not  possible  to  limit  science  to  the  simple  con- 
ditions of  existence,  setting  aside  altogether  the  inquiry  into 
its  causes.  Positivism  has  wholly  failed  in  its  attempt  to  derive 
all  knowledge  from  the  object  itself,  apart  from  the  activity  of 
the  thinking  subject.  This  subjective  activity  is  implied  in 
the  simplest  induction  of  a  general  law  from  the  succession  of 
phenomena. 

Second. — The  principle  of  causation  cannot  be  deduced,  any 
more  than  the  other  d  prioristic  ideas,  from  the  mere  association 
of  ideas,  which  are  nothing  more  than  sensations  transformed, 
as  the  new  English  psychology  maintains ;  for  this  psychology 
altogether  fails  to  explain  the  mental  power  which  combines 
the  ideas,  which  is  conscious  of  their  combination  and  of  itself 
as  something  apart  from  them.  The  persistence  of  the  ego, 
attested  by  memory,  renders  this  explanation  wholly  inadequate, 
as  the  psychologists  of  this  school  are  constrained  to  admit. 
The  theory  of  evolution  and  of  heredity  brings  in  the  element 
of  indefinite  time,  but  it  cannot  evolve  from  sensations  that 
which  they  do  not  contain,  and  which  they  have  no  cumula- 
tive power  to  produce.  Moreover,  the  ego  predicates  itself  in 
denying  its  own  existence. 

Third. — The  inductive  d  prioristic  element  of  the  human 

103 


104  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

mind,  recognised  by  Kant  and  by  the  school  of  M.  Renouvier, 
does  not  confine  us,  as  is  asserted  by  French  or  German  criti- 
cism, to  pure  subjectivism,  by  which  no  way  would  be  left  open 
to  us  for  arriving  at  the  reality  of  things,  except  moral  intuition. 
We  have  seen  first,  that  while  the  fundamental  ideas  of  reason 
are  inherent  and  prior  to  all  experience,  they  are  nevertheless 
confirmed  by  the  consciousness  which  the  ego  acquires  of  itself 
in  the  very  act  of  self-determination.  As  the  will  comes  into 
play  in  the  act  of  thinking,  all  contradiction  between  pure 
reason  and  practical  reason  disappears,  for  both  the  one  and 
the  other  is  contingent  on  the  exercise  of  that  liberty  which 
we  find  to  be  the  very  essence,  as  it  were,  of  the  human  being. 
Lastly,  the  postulate  of  practical  reason,  the  categorical  im- 
perative of  the  moral  consciousness,  which  commands  the  ful- 
filment of  duty,  implies  the  reality  of  the  world  in  which  it  is 
to  perform  its  functions.  It  follows  that  neither  the  humanity 
to  which  it  binds  us  in  bonds  of  duty,  nor  the  higher  and  divine 
world  in  which  the  categorical  imperative  finds  its  necessary 
sanctions,  can  be  pure  illusions.  The  problem  of  knowledge, 
thus  freed  from  the  theories  which  misrepresent  it  or  render  it 
chimerical,  is  brought  near  its  true  solution.  It  is  important 
for  us  to  formulate  it  with  precision,  for  before  we  proceed  to 
inquire  further  into  the  problem  of  the  world  and  its  origins, 
we  must  know  what  our  intellectual  instrument  is  capable  of, 
and  whether  we  may  really  trust  to  it. 

I.  GENESIS  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

Let  us  attempt  to  describe  the  genesis,  the  development, 
and  the  conditions  of  our  faculty  of  knowing.  The  human 
mind  would  remain  inert  if  it  were  not  aroused  from  without; 
all  its  thinking  energies  would  lie  dormant.  It  is  needful  then 
that  sensation  should  begin  to  act,  that  it  should  thrill  the 
nerves  which  correspond  to  each  of  its  modes,  and  should 
reperceive  itself  in  the  nervous  centre.  We  reserve  for  the  an- 
thropological section  of  this  work  the  complete  refutation  of  the 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.     105 

naturalistic  theories  which  affirm  that  sensation  is  transformed 
into  thought  by  mere  cerebral  action. 

Even  the  sensation  which  remains  mere  sensation,  is  not 
adequately  explained  by  molecular  motion.  It  implies,  alike 
in  the  child  and  in  the  animal,  an  obscure  and  confused 
psychical  activity.  We  confine  ourselves  for  the  moment  to 
the  statements,  already  quoted,  of  one  of  our  most  eminent 
physiologists,  as  to  the  impossibility  of  identifying  the  mo- 
lecular motion  of  the  brain  with  thought.  In  order  that  sen- 
sation may  become  perception,  all  our  faculties  must  be 
brought  into  play.  Sensations  which  were  not  prolonged  as 
images,  would  leave  no  trace  and  would  furnish  no  materials 
for  ideas.  Imagination  must  give  them  the  necessary  fixity. 
In  order  to  derive  ideas  from  them,  the  mind  must  compare 
phenomena,  seize  their  points  of  resemblance  and  difference, 
and  thus  rise  to  generalisation,  without  which  it  would  be,  so 
to  speak,  lost  in  a  confused  multiplicity  of  sensations  and 
images  and  would  fail  to  grasp  anything  distinct.  To  think  is 
to  unify.  "  Without  general  ideas,"  we  read  in  M.  Janet's 
excellent  summary  of  his  philosophy,  "  it  would  be  impossible 
for  men  to  think,  for  to  think  is  to  generalise.  So  long  as  I 
am  absorbed  by  an  individual  object,  without  even  observing 
that  it  is  individual  (for  this  would  imply  the  idea  of  the 
general)  it  cannot  be  said  that  I  think,  but  only  that  I  feel. 
It  is  when  I  have  remarked  that  such  and  such  an  object 
resembles  some  other,  and  have  placed  both  in  the  same 
class,  as  for  example  in  the  class  of  flowers,  it  is  only  then 
that  what  we  call  thought  takes  place."1  Thus  we  only  rise 
from  sensation  to  perception  by  a  positive  act  of  thought; 
and  in  order  to  perform  this  act,  we  need  the  will  and  the 
attention,  which  implies  resolution.  Doubtless  these  opera- 
tions are  accomplished  with  great  rapidity;  habit  and  heredity 
render  them  spontaneous  ;  but  at  the  starting-point  there  is 
always  positive  mental  activity. 

1  "  Traite  £lementaire  de  Philosophic. "     Paul  Janet. 


io6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

We  have  only  so  far  reached  the  starting-point  of  the  in- 
tellectual operation  by  which  we  come  to  know  the  outer 
world.  Physical  effort  has  made  us  cognisant  of  an  element 
foreign  to  the  ego  in  our  own  body,  by  the  resistance  it  has 
offered  to  us.  This  foreign  element  being  admitted,  we  have 
discovered  further  that  it  is  subdivided,  that  it  is  multiform. 
This  we  learn  from  mere  contact  with  our  fellow-creatures, 
having  bodies  like  our  own.  We  find  this  element  outside  of 
us  indefinitely  extended.  We  have  thus  arrived  at  the  idea 
of  matter.  If  we  apply  to  it  the  notion  of  substance  it  is 
because  this  is  an  idea  innate  in  our  minds ;  if  we  attribute 
force  to  it,  it  is  because  the  principle  of  causation  has  con- 
strained us  to  refer  to  some  cause  the  resistance  we  have 
encountered.  These  bodies  we  have  placed  in  space,  and 
have  recognised  that  they  are  subject  to  the  law  of  succession. 
Thus  only  have  we  acquired  a  true  knowledge  of  the  world 
without  us.  We  see,  that  to  obtain  this  knowledge  in  the  most 
elementary  degree,  requires  the  direct  intervention  of  our 
reason.  M.  Charles  Secretan  says  :  "  The  integrity  of  the 
organ,  the  presence  of  a  fit  agent,  and  a  certain  degree  of 
attention,  are  indispensable  before  a  sensation  is  produced. 
But  even  these  conditions  do  not  suffice  to  give  us  a  perception, 
or  that  knowledge  of  outward  objects  which  we  refer  to  the 
senses  when  we  say,  for  example :  *  I  see  a  man,'  *  I  hear  a 
carriage.'  We  must  have  the  idea  of  foreign  bodies  in  gene- 
ral,1 the  knowledge  inseparable  from  that  of  our  own  body, 
which  we  obtain  by  sight  and  touch.  We  must  have  memory 
and  intelligence,  that  is  to  say,  general  ideas,  judgment,  and 
reasoning.  Sensible  knowledge  always  demands  the  concur- 
rence of  the  intelligence  to  interpret  the  sensation.  And  the 
sensation  itself  is  not  produced  without  a  certain  degree  of 
attention,  that  is  to  say,  of  spontaneous  activity  of  the  mind. 
Sensation  by  itself  teaches  us  nothing."  2 

1  "  De  la  Certitude,"  Robert,  Part  II.,  chap.  4. 
f  "  Precis  de  Philosophic,"  Charles  Secretan,  p.  46. 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.     107 

Knowledge  then  consists,  not  merely  in  the  perception  of 
phenomena,  but  in  their  succession,  combination,  and  the 
prevision  of  their  repetition  under  the  same  conditions  of  exist- 
ence. We  thus  arrive  at  the  idea  of  a  law,  which  we  can 
derive  only  from  induction.  To  state  a  law,  to  determine 
the  conditions  under  which  phenomena  will  be  reproduced,  is 
to  infer,  to  judge  of  the  future  by  the  present.  The  science  of 
nature  is  only  possible  on  this  condition.  "  To  use  induction," 
says  M.  Lachelier,  "  we  must  admit  implicitly  that  nature 
constitutes  a  fixed  organism,  the  phenomena  of  which  are 
connected  and  produce  each  other  in  a  certain  order ;  for  if 
they  were  not  connected  and  fitted  into  each  other,  so  to 
speak,  we  should  have  no  reason  for  supposing  they  would  be 
reproduced  in  the  future  under  the  same  circumstances.  Thus 
induction  pre-supposes  the  idea  of  this  fixed  order."1  These 
phenomena  are  not  only  conditioned  by  one  another,  they  are 
also  combined,  co-ordinated  in  nature ;  they  form  systems,  har- 
monies, ever  more  and  more  complete.  Nature  is  something 
more  than  the  movement  produced  by  the  simple  succession 
of  phenomena  ;  it  is  not  to  be  explained  by  pure  mechanics. 
It  has  a  form,  a  leading  idea,  perfectly  recognisable  in  the 
living  organism.  In  order  to  know  what  this  idea  is,  there  must 
be  an  exercise  of  thought,  a  distinct  effort  to  rise  from  the 
parts  of  the  whole  to  the  whole  itself,  else  the  knowledge 
gained  will  be  only  of  the  parts  separately,  or  of  the  whole  as 
a  mere  abstraction.  It  follows  that  the  knowledge  of  nature 
itself  implies  not  only  the  intuition  of  unity  but  that  of  per- 
fection, that  is  to  say,  the  highest  conception  of  the  mind  of 
man."  We  are  thus  raised  by  mere  physical  knowledge,  above 
the  phenomenal  world  of  sensation  up  to  reason  itself. 

It  will  be  asked  no  doubt  whether  this  knowledge,  governed 

by  reason,  of  the  sensible  phenomenal  world,  corresponds  really 

to  its  object ;  whether  we  do  not  in  this  way  get  the  object  so 

modified  that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  what  it  is  in  itself,  and 

1  "  De  1'Induction,"  Lachelier,  p.  95. 


io8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

we  are  thus  driven  back  on  the  Kantian  distinction  between 
the  noumenon  and  the  phenomenon.  We  do  not  deny  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  sensible  world  does  in  some  measure  trans- 
form it.  That  which  presents  itself  to  us  as  colour  is  in  reality 
only  undulation  and  vibration.  But  there  is  nothing  to  prevent 
our  admitting  this  transformation  of  the  phenomenon,  without 
going  so  far  as  to  reduce  it  to  a  mere  illusion.  Sensation  is 
indeed  a  translation  of  the  external  world,  but  it  is  a  faithful 
translation  of  an  existing  text.  The  veracity  of  God  is  not 
an  argument  to  be  slighted,  when  once  the  idea  of  God  has 
been  legitimately  sanctioned. 

It  is  needless  to  insist  at  any  length  upon  the  important  part 
which  reason  has  to  play  in  that  knowledge  of  a  higher  order 
which  refers  to  the  subject  himself,  and  which  is  called  the 
consciousness  of  the  ego.  Here,  as  we  have  shown,  the 
fundamental  principles  of  the  reason,  which  spring  into  life, 
so  to  speak,  in  the  manifestations  of  the  conscious  ego,  appear 
in  full  play.  In  the  free  act,  which  the  first  simple  muscular 
effort  implies,  and  which  in  a  higher  degree  becomes  attention 
and  reflexion,  the  ego  is  conscious  of  itself  as  an  energy  and 
a  cause.  Its  persistence,  attested  by  memory  through  all  the 
fluctuations  of  sensation,  gives  the  realisation  of  the  idea  of 
substance,  as  the  succession  of  those  sensations  gives  that 
of  time.  The  very  fact  of  thought,  which  implies  the  distinc- 
tion between  the  thinking  subject  and  the  object  thought  of, 
leads  to  the  recognition  of  another  existence  outside  the  ego. 

The  resistance  which  demands  effort,  and  of  which  the  ego 
is  conscious  in  its  own  body,  makes  itself  felt  by  the  touch; 
this  sense,  combined  with  that  of  sight,  gives  a  certain  experi- 
mental knowledge  of  extension,  so  to  speak.  We  notice  once 
again,  that  even  in  this  higher  application  to  the  conscious 
ego,  mere  empiricism  would  not  suffice  to  determine  the  es- 
sential principles  of  knowledge,  those  categories  which  at  once 
govern  it  and  render  it  possible.  Neither  the  activity  of  the 
ego  nor  its  persistence,  nor  the  data  given  us  by  effort  and 


SOLUTION  OF   THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.     109 

attention,  would  raise  us  to  the  principles  of  causation  and 
substance,  or  to  the  ideas  of  time  and  space,  if  these  categories 
were  not  virtually  present  in  the  reason,  which  alone  confers 
on  them  the  character  of  universality  and  necessity  ;  else,  as 
we  have  already  shown,  we  should  never  be  able  to  derive 
them  from  the  most  carefully  conducted  psychological  experi- 
ments. It  is  because  these  great  conceptions  are  virtually 
present  in  the  reason  that  they  are  elicited  from  the  observa- 
tions which  the  ego  makes  of  itself  and  of  the  spectacle  of  the 
phenomenal  world. 

It  is  a  very  significant  fact  undoubtedly,  that  these  same 
laws  of  the  human  mind  are  to  be  observed  by  us  in  full 
operation  in  the  activity  of  the  ego,  for  we  are  thus  certified 
that  they  arc  not  mere  empty  moulds  of  thought,  formulas 
signifying  nothing.  They  are  thus  shown  to  be  consonant 
with  fact ;  there  is  a  harmony,  a  correspondence  between  the 
real  world, — the  world  without — and  the  laws  laid  down  by 
the  reason.  But  reason  does  not  create  this  harmony,  nor 
does  experience  supply  it,  which  would  be  equivalent  to  saying 
that  it  produced  it. 

Let  us  look  at  this  master  faculty  of  the  understanding, — 
reason, — in  itself.  Let  us  be  careful  not  to  relegate  it  to  an 
inaccessible  height,  like  the  Neo-Platonist  God,  for  whom  there 
is  no  way  of  passing  from  his  transcendent,  ineffable  unity  to 
the  world  of  life  and  change.  We  admit  the  just  distinction 
drawn  by  Aristotle  between  reason  passive  and  active.  The 
former,  directed  to  the  phenomenal  world,  transmits  sensations 
and  feelings,  the  latter  works  them  out,  after  having  been  in 
some  way  set  in  motion.  The  d  priori  conceptions  were  up 
to  this  time  present  in  it  only  virtually ;  it  possesses  the  faculty 
of  producing  them,  and  of  formulating  as  judgments  its  in- 
herent ideas  of  the  absolute.  These  judgments  become  the 
axioms  on  which  experience  is  founded,  and  which  govern  it, 
since  they  embrace  all  possibilities. 

The  first  of  these  axioms  is  the  principle  of  identity,  accord- 


no  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

ing  to  which  a  thing  cannot  be  and  not  be  at  the  same  time. 
Without  this,  reason  is  not  reason ;  we  cannot  trust  to  it,  rest 
upon  it ;  if  it  does  not  exclude  contradiction,  all  knowledge 
will  be  impossible.  Reason  begins  with  this  implicit  act  of 
faith.  Failing  this  it  has  no  standing  ground;  it  is  carried 
along  without  pause  and  without  rest ;  nothing  is  true,  nothing 
false.  There  must  be  an  absolute  beginning,  a  basis  which 
rests  upon  itself,  else  thought  revolves  for  ever  in  a  circle,  or 
rather  whirls  in  a  vortex.  The  first  condition  of  science  is  faith 
in  the  true;  if  it  be  required  to  prove  the  principle,  the  proof 
would  again  need  to  be  proved,  and  the  regression  would  be 
endless. 

After  the  principle  of  identity  reason  gives  us  what  Kant 
calls  the  laws  of  sensation,  the  ideas  of  time  and  space,  then 
the  idea  of  substance,  and  lastly  that  principle  of  causation  which 
is  like  the  keystone  of  the  arch,  or  rather  which  is  the  impulse, 
the  spur  to  its  activity,  the  parent  of  all  science.  It  is  from 
the  reason  alone  that  this  principle  receives  the  character  of 
universality  and  necessity  which  does  not  belong  to  the  domain 
of  the  empirical.  If  the  reason  is  vitalised  by  contact  with  the 
phenomenal  world,  it  restores  a  hundredfold  that  which  it  has 
received,  for  it  alone  gives  the  key  to  open  its  mysteries.  The 
axioms  of  the  reason  explain  the  relations  of  the  phenomenal 
world,  without  which  nothing  would  be  intelligible. 

Reason  does  more ;  it  raises  us  higher  than  itself,  to  its  own 
source  and  principle.  It  recognises  that  it  must  find  the  ex- 
planation of  itself  in  something  beyond  it.  It  is  by  its  essence 
inclined  to  the  perfect  and  the  absolute.  There  is  not  one  of  its 
axioms  which  is  not  based  on  this  :  there  is  a  reason  for  every- 
thing. Every  change  has  its  cause,  every  quality  its  substance, 
every  being  its  end.  These  are  the  principles  of  reason.  Its 
most  general  function  is  to  conceive  the  conditions  of  order, 
of  homogeneity,  of  harmony  between  the  effect  and  the  cause. 
It  must  then  find  a  reason  adequate  to  itself  and  to  the  totality 
of  things,  a  cause  proportioned  to  the  effect.  This  cause 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE,     in 

should  be  perfection  itself,  for  thought  cannot  stop  at  anything 
lower,  and  perfection  can  only  be  the  absolute.  Any  limited 
degree  of  being  and  of  perfection  placed  at  the  origin  of  things 
is  illogical.  The  absolute  being  is  at  the  same  time  perfect, 
for  any  imperfection  would  be  a  limit.1  Thus  the  principle  of 
causation,  taken  by  itself,  implies  perfect  and  absolute  being, 
and  reason  thus  lifts  our  eyes  to  God. 

Here  comes  in  again  in  its  place  the  great  Cartesian  proof 
derived  from  the  contrast  between  our  imperfection  and  the 
idea  of  perfectness  within  us.  "  I  am  an  imperfect  thing,  and 
I  have  the  idea  of  perfection."  It  cannot,  then,  be  I  who 
have  originated  it,  for  it  goes  infinitely  beyond  me.  It  comes 
from  above,  but  it  is  none  the  less  in  me.  I  am  the  living 
proof  of  its  reality  quite  as  much  by  the  poverty  of  my  being 
as  by  the  greatness  of  my  conception.  Only  I  have  learnt, 
from  the  great  philosophy  inaugurated  by  Kant,  not  to  content 
myself  with  pure  reason  and  the  intellectual  ism  which  the 
school  of  Descartes  would  not  have  exaggerated  if  it  had  more 
closely  followed  the  first  thought  of  its  master,  especially  if  it 
had  fixed  its  attention  upon  the  clear  testimony,  borne  alike 
by  practical  reason  and  the  moral  conscience,  to  a  Being  not 
only  infinite  and  absolute,  but  perfect  and  holy,  the  God  of 
liberty,  the  absolute  moral  perfection.  I  thus  escape  the  false 
notion  of  the  Infinite  taught  by  Spinoza — an  Infinite  which  is 
wholly  extensive,  and  which,  being  therefore  incapable  of  limi- 
tation, cannot  recognise  any  created  liberty,  since  this  would 
be  a  limitation  of  itself.  I  learn  further  from  the  greatest  of 
French  psychologists,  that  the  liberty  which  is  the  axis  of 
the  moral  life  is  also  the  great  motor  of  the  intellectual  life, 
that  the  two  reasons  are  not  separable,  and  that  both  alike 
lead  us  up  to  the  God  of  freedom,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  moral 
Absolute. 

The  Cartesian  proof  from  perfection  perceived  by  imperfec- 
tion, is  as  valuable  in  the  sphere  of  practical  as  of  pure  reason, 
1  "De  la  Certitude,"  Robert,  p.  347. 


112  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

for  it  is  from  the  depths  of  my  misery  and  weakness  I  see  the 
clear  slvning  of  the  absolute  good,  which  attracts  while  it  over- 
whelms me.  We  say  with  M.  Charles  Secre'tan,  who  is  the 
philosopher  of  liberty  par  excellence :  "The  proof  that  the  ego 
is  not  alone,  and  is  not  its  own  cause,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  ego  itself.  We  shall  discover  that  we 
are  always  endeavouring  in  vain  to  find  in  ourselves  the  reason 
of  our  own  being.  Behind  and  beneath  the  ego  we  find  some- 
thing greater  than  the  ego.  We  feel  ourselves  to  be  finite, 
while  reason  demands  the  infinite,  the  absolute ;  we  feel  our- 
selves to  be  at  once  free  and  fettered  or  constrained — free 
in  the  application  of  our  limited  powers,  fettered  in  our  per- 
ception which  comes  through  the  senses,  constrained  by 
duty."1  If  the  ego  finds  itself  at  once  free  and  subject  to  a 
law,  there  is  of  necessity  a  higher  will  to  which  it  is  under 
obligation.  Thus  the  fact  of  moral  obligation,  like  all  the 
a-prioristic  laws  of  the  reason,  compels  us  to  seek  a  higher 
unity. 

So  thought  the  great  Christian  Cartesians  of  the  lyth  cen- 
tury; and  all  we  need  in  interpreting  their  thought,  is  to  give 
due  weight  to  the  moral  element.  We  welcome  its  exposition 
from  one  whose  words  will  never  grow  old,  "Oh,  how  great 
is  the  mind  of  man  ! "  exclaims  Fenelon  ;  "  he  bears  within 
him  that  which  amazes  and  infinitely  excels  himself !  .  .  . 
Here  is  a  being  weak,  uncertain,  finite,  full  of  errors  !  Who 
has  instilled  into  a  mind  so  limited,  so  imperfect,  the  idea  of 
the  infinite,  that  is  of  the  perfect  ?  "  2 

Bossuet  says : — "We  have  only  to  reflect  on  our  own  opera- 
tions in  order  to  understand  that  we  come  from  a  higher 
principle ;  for  inasmuch  as  our  soul  is  capable  of  affirming 
and  denying,  and  as  moreover  it  feels  itself  to  be  ignorant  of 
many  things,  and  knows  that  it  is  often  mistaken,  it  perceives 
in  the  truth  inherent  in  itself  a  good  principle,  but  it  perceives 

1  "Precis  de  Philosophic,"  Charles  Secretan,  pp.  122-124. 

2  "CEuvres  de  Fenelon,"  vol.  ii.,  "  De  1'Existence  deDieu,"  pp.  86,  87. 


SOLUTION  OF  THE   PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    113 

also  that  it  is  imperfect,  and  that  there  is  a  higher  wisdom  to 
which  it  owes  its  being.  In  fact,  the  perfect  must  exist  before 
the  imperfect,  as  the  less  presupposes  the  greater,  of  which  it  is 
the  lesser  part.  Thus  it  is  natural  that  the  imperfect  should 
imply  the  perfect,  from  which  it  is,  so  to  speak,  fallen  ;  and  if 
an  imperfect  wisdom  like  ours,  with  its  doubts,  ignorances,  and 
errors,  does  not  cease  to  be,  with  how  much  stronger  reason 
must  we  believe  that  the  perfect  wisdom  is  and  subsists,  and  that 
ours  is  but  a  spark  from  it.  We  know  then  by  ourselves  and 
by  our  own  imperfection  that  there  is  an  infinite  wisdom  which 
never  errs  or  is  in  doubt,  and  which  is  ignorant  of  nothing  be- 
cause it  has  a  full  comprehension  of  the  truth,  or  rather  is  itself 

the  truth A  Being  eternal,  immeasurable,  infinite, 

exempt  from  all  evil,  free  from  all  limitation,  all  imperfection. 
What  miracle  is  this  ?  We  who  are  but  finite,  who  look  only 
on  things  bounded  like  ourselves,  how  have  we  come  to  con- 
ceive this  eternity?  Whence  came  to  us  the  thought  of  this 
infinity?1 

"  Since  the  finite  thing  cannot  contain  the  infinite,"  says 
Malebranche,  "  the  simple  fact  that  we  conceive  the  infinite 
argues  that  it  is.  All  this  is  founded  upon  the  simple  and  evi- 
dent principle  that  nothingness  cannot  be  directly  conceived. 
To  conceive  nothing,  is  the  same  thing  as  not  to  conceive  at 
all."  2 


II.  SHARE   OF  THE   WILL  IN  KNOWLEDGE. — THE  CON- 
DITIONS OF  CERTAINTY. 

This  powerful  Cartesian  logic  appears  very  conclusive,  and 
yet  we  have  to  admit  that  mere  reasoning  does  not  suffice, 
and  that  in  order  to  arrive  at  certainty,  either  moral  or  in- 
tellectual, there  must  be  the  co-operation  of  the  will.  We  do 

1  "CEuvresde  Bossuet"  See  "La  Connaissance  deDieu,"  and  "Sermon 
sur  la  Mort." 

2  "CEuvres  de  Malebranche,"  vol.  ii.  p.  366. 


u4  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

not  refer  simply  to  that  free  act  which  takes  place  whenever 
there  is  conscious  effort  on  our  part :  we  mean  rather  that 
there  must  be  a  positive  determination  of  the  will  before  there 
can  be  any  real  acquisition  of  knowledge,  even  of  purely 
intellectual  objects,  not  to  speak  of  great  moral  truth  properly 
so  called.  For  first  of  all,  we  only  arrive  at  knowledge  worthy 
of  the  name,  by  the  degree  of  attention  which  is  called  reflexion, 
and  which  implies  at  once  the  concentration  of  our  faculties 
of  perception,  the  isolation,  by  an  effort  of  thought,  of  the 
object  of  our  study  so  as  to  bring  it  under  our  direct  ob- 
servation, and  the  resolute  resistance  to  all  distracting  influ- 
ences from  without  We  never  reflect  but  by  a  determination 
of  the  will. 

In  the  second  place,  every  judgment  which  applies  an 
attribute  to  a  substance,  implies  an  act  of  will,  for  it  involves 
a  comparison  of  different  attributes.  A  truth  of  any  order 
whatsoever  demands  our  assent  before  we  can  be  said  to  have 
made  it  our  own;  and  this  assent  or  consent  is  something 
more  than  a  mere  passive  acquiescence. l 

Error  always  arises  out  of  negligence,  an  indolence  of  the 
mind  which  has  made  it  stop  too  soon  in  its  inquiries.  We 
must  not  confound  error  with  the  mere  limitation  of  our 
knowledge.  Error  begins  from  the  moment  when,  by  a  hasty 
affirmation,  we  have  drawn  unwarrantable  conclusions  from 
insufficient  observation.  Descartes  makes  very  wise  reflex- 
ions on  this  point,  showing  r  how  much  scope  he  allowed  to 
the  free  action  of  the  mind  :  "  Coming  more  closely  to  myself," 
he  says,  "  and  examining  of  what  kind  my  errors  are  (which 
alone  argue  imperfection  in  me)  I  notice  that  they  depend  on 
two  concurrent  causes,  namely,  on  the  faculty  of  knowing 
which  is  in  me  and  the  faculty  of  choosing,  or  freedom  of 
the  will ;  that  is,  on  intelligence  and  will  together.  .  .  . 
If,  when  I  do  not  with  sufficient  clearness  and  distinctness 
perceive  what  is  true,  I  abstain  from  forming  a  judgment,  it 
1  "  La  Certitude  Morale,"  Olle  Laprune,  chap.  ii. 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    115 

is  clear  that  I  act  rightly  and  am  not  deceived,  but  if  I  either 
affirm  or  deny,  then  I  make  an  improper  use  of  my  liberty  to 
choose,  and  if  I  turn  to  that  side  which  is  false,  I  evidently 
am  deceived.  ...  In  this  improper  use  of  free  choice, 
I  am  influenced  by  some  prejudice,  and  this  determines  the 
form  of  the  error."1 

Malebranche  is  no  less  explicit  than  Descartes  as  to  the 
moral  defects  which  underlie  intellectual  errors.  "We  are 
as  free,"  he  says,  "in  our  false  judgments  as  in  our  lawless 
affections.  The  human  mind  is  not  subject  to  error  because 
:t  is  finite,  and  therefore  has  a  smaller  range  than  the  ob- 
ects  it  contemplates,  but  also  because  it  is  inconsistent.  In 
.>rder  to  apprehend  the  cause  of  this  inconsistency,  we  must 
understand  that  it  is  the  will  which  governs  the  operation  of 
the  mind ;  that  it  is  the  will  which  directs  it  by  preference 
to  certain  objects,  and  that  it  is  the  will  itself  which  is  in  a 
state  of  constant  vacillation  and  restlessness."  2 

No  one  has  spoken  more  truly  and  thoughtfully  upon  this 
subject  tha*n  the  great  theologian  Schleiermacher,  in  his 
posthumous  Lectures  on  the  Life  of  Christ.  "  Truth,"  he 
says,  "  is  the  natural  estate  of  man ;  his  faculties  in  their 
normal  condition  would  lead  him  to  it.  The  state  of 
ignorance  and  uncertainty  is  not  error ;  error  begins  from  the 
moment  when  the  mind  arrives  at  a  false  conclusion.  This 
arises  from  his  stopping  too  soon  in  his  investigation  of  truth, 
thus  showing  that  he  has  not  loved  it  as  it  deserves  to 
be  loved,  or  that  he  had  some  secret  inclination  to  accept 
some  incomplete  result.  It  is  not  possible,  then,  absolutely 
to  distinguish  error  from  evil,  at  least  in  relation  to  that  order 
of  truths  which  appeal  to  the  conscience  and  the  soul." 

It  is  indeed  in  relation  to  this  order  of  truths  that  the  part 
of  the  will  is  so  important ;  for  we  cannot  ignore  the  fact, 

1  "Meditations,"  Descartes,  pp.  172-176. 
*  "CEuvres,"  Malebranche,  vol.  i.,  p.  30. 
8  "Lebenjesu,"  Schleierraacher,  p.  118. 


Ii6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

that,  even  when  reduced  to  their  most  general  form,  to  the 
simple  "  categorical  imperative  "  of  Kant,  they  come  into  con- 
flict with  all  the  lower  tendencies  of  our  nature. 

These  truths  are  obligatory  apart  from  their  evidences. 
They  command  obedience  but  do  not  force  themselves  upon 
the  reason  by  a  sort  of  dialectic  necessity,  as  the  result  of 
inexorable  logic.  Their  very  nature  implies  that  this  is  not 
the  basis  on  which  they  rest  The  first  duty  is  to  believe 
in  duty ;  but  duty  is  of  such  a  nature  that  it  can  be  evaded, 
and  the  eyes  can  be  closed  against  it.  Moral  truth  appeals 
to  the  intuition,  and  as  this  is  not  capable  of  demonstration, 
there  is  nothing  to  hinder  our  ignoring  it.  In  the  domain 
of  morals  especially,  reasoning  sometimes  destroys  reason. 
Practical  reason,  like  pure  reason,  presupposes  an  element  of 
d  priori,  of  the  intuitive,  which  we  can  trace  no  further. 
Nothing  can  be  easier  than  to  put  oneself  out  of  condition 
to  grasp  this,  by  allowing  the  delicate  sense  of  moral  truth 
within  us  to  get  deadened.  Nothing  can  be  more  easy  than 
to  stifle  this  direct  intuition  altogether,  and  to  substitute  for 
it  mere  dialectic  subtleties.  Logic  imprisons  liberty  in  a 
network  of  contradictions  from  which  it  only  escapes  when,  by 
a  sudden  stroke  of  the  wing,  it  rises  into  the  higher  region 
of  intuition,  where  conscience  commands  without  arguing,  and 
the  supreme  authority  is  duty. 

Determinism  begins  directly  we  leave  this  higher  region ; 
for  the  principles  beyond  which  we  cannot  go,  and  which 
represent  to  us  the  beginning  of  all  things,  are  the  only 
things  which  its  system  cannot  comprehend.  Below  them 
everything  fits  in,"  in  regular  sequence ;  they  alone  cannot  be 
included  in  the  fatalistic  succession,  because  they  are  principles, 
and  they  would  cease  to  be  so  were  they  shown  to  be  mere 
links  in  a  chain.  They  are  only  recognised  therefore  by 
intuition.  If  they  are  withdrawn  from  this  sphere  they  have 
no  longer  any  existence  for  us.  With  regard  to  moral  truth, 
intuition  is  only  rendered  possible  by  purity  of  heart,  or  at 


SOLUTION  OF   THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    117 

least  by  integrity  of  will.  The  pure  in  heart  alone  see  God. 
If  we  associate  moral  truth  with  God,  it  is  because,  as  we 
have  seen,  it  cannot  be  severed  from  God  without  losing  its 
reality  and  its  sanction.  In  order  to  show  how  moral  truth 
implies  the  existence  of  a  God,  we  have  only  to  note  how  far 
it  surpasses  and  sometimes  almost  overwhelms  us.  We  who 
are  not  only  finite  beings,  but  frail  and  faulty,  are  capable  of 
conceiving  the  highest  good,  the  ideal  of  perfection.  It  must 
then  be  something  above  us,  and  not  the  product  of  our  own 
conceptions ;  for  if  we  were  shut  up  within  ourselves,  we 
should  be  incapable  of  conceiving  anything  better  than  our- 
selves. This  living  character  of  moral  truth,  which  forbids  our 
limiting  it  to  a  mere  formula,  and  gives  it  in  some  way  the 
grandeur  of  the  highest  personality,  is  a  further  reason  for 
assigning  a  large  part  to  the  will  and  to  the  heart,  in  our 
appreciation  of  it.  "  Thought  alone  can  only  apprehend  a 
formula ;  a  personality  is  beyond  its  grasp ;  it  can  only  dis- 
cern its  outlines  and  limits ;  it  never  gets  to  the  heart  of  it 
A  personality  must  be  loved  in  order  to  be  known,  and  with- 
out moral  harmony  it  is  incomprehensible.  How  then  can 
thought  alone  apprehend  the  highest  personality  who  is  the 
Absolute  Good?  Living  truth  presents,  to  anyone  who  stu- 
dies it,  an  infinity  of  aspects,  and  is  too  vast  to  be  comprised 
in  a  few  formulas.  These  formulas  are  rather  symbols  of  the 
living  truth."  1 

God  is  only  known,  as  Pascal  truly  says,  when  He  is  felt 
in  the  heart.  "  Moral  truth  ignored,  or  even  neglected,  is  not 
borne  in  upon  the  mind  by  the  all-.powerful  virtue  of  a  syllogism. 
Neither  the  excellence  of  truth  nor  the  dignity  of  the  soul 
allows  this.  No ;  the  relation  must  be  one  both  closer  and 
broader.  Is  it  not  a  sublime  intimacy  which  is  established 
between  truth  and  the  human  soul,  when  the  former  seeks 
and  obtains  the  assent  of  the  latter  ?  This  is  a  real  exchange, 
a  bond  of  friendship,  for  in  the  moral  order  abstractions  have 
1  "  La  Certitude  Morale,"  Olle  Laprune,  p.  351. 


u8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

only  a  provisional  value ;  behind  ideas,  there  are  beings,  and 
these  beings  are  persons.  In  truth,  all  is  comprised  in  this ; 
the  call  of  God,  the  response  of  man.  This  is  the  whole  of 
the  moral  life."  1  "  Listen,"  says  Bossuet,  "  listen  in  the 
depths  of  your  nature,  where  truth  makes  itself  heard,  where 
pure  and  simple  ideas  present  themselves." 

Moral  certainty  then  implies  the  exercise  of  the  moral 
faculties,  the  firm  resolve  of  the  will  to  bow  to  the  categorical 
imperative,  and  to  place  the  sacred  intuition  of  duty  above 
logical  necessity.  It  is  impossible  not  to  see  moral  loss  in 
the  denial  of  the  truths  revealed  by  conscience.  Only  we 
must  make  allowance  here  for  all  the  inconsistencies  by  which 
man  sometimes  rises  above  his  doctrine  and  sometimes  falls 
below  it.  Just  as  there  are  atheists  who  by  their  virtues  and 
noble  lives  would  make  men  believe  in  God,  and  who  are 
atheists  only  because  all  that  they  have  known  under  the  name 
of  God  has  been  a  monstrous  idol  of  human  fabrication  ;  so  are 
there  also  professed  worshippers  of  the  Divine,  who  are  its 
worst  desecrators.  When  we  speak  of  the  true  moral  certainty, 
we  mean  that  which  is  at  once  theory  and  practice,  which  is, 
so  to  speak,  a  vision  of  the  Divine  and  its  manifestation  in 
the  life.  This  we  hold  to  be  possible  to  any  one  who  is  will- 
ing to  make  the  legitimate  use  of  all  his  moral  faculties.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  all  our  respect  for  liberty  of  opinion, 
we  are  constrained  to  regard  the  denial  of  moral  truth  as  a 
deviation  of  the  will. 

Scepticism,  which,  under  forms  sometimes  the  most  brilliant, 
calls  in  question  this  moral  order,  and  admits  nothing  higher 
than  mental  curiosity;  the  refined  epicureanism  which  desires 
always  to  enjoy  and  never  to  obey,  is  a  disease  of  the  soul. 
Its  doubt  proves  nothing,  for  it  is  wilful  doubt.  It  is  not 
enough  to  say  :  "  What  is  truth  ?  "  with  a  view  to  getting  our 
doubts  confirmed.  If  it  is  said  ironically,  as  Pilate  said  it, 

1  "La  Certitude  Morale,"  Olle  Laprune,  p.  351. 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    119 

we  shall  have  no  reply  ;  or  rather,  we  shall  have  the  reply 
we  wish  for,  which  is  a  mere  negation.  Scepticism  is  no  more 
a  disproof  of  moral  certainty,  than  sickness  disproves  the  possi- 
bility of  health,  or  than  eyes  voluntarily  closed  disprove  the 
sunshine.  It  is  a  familiar  fact,  that  we  may  have  eyes  that  see 
not,  and  ears  that  will  not  hear. 

"The  action  of  the  will  is  not  concentrated  on  a  single 
moment  of  the  moral  life.  Every  man  is  more  or  less  pre- 
pared, under  given  circumstances,  to  receive  the  new  light 
brought  to  him^  according  to  the  use  he  has  made  of  the 
earlier  lights  which  have  shone  within  his  soul.  Past  faith- 
fulness is  the  best  measure  of  present  aptitude  to  recognise 
the  true.  To  think  is  a  natural  exercise  ;  to  think  rightly 
depends  to  a  certain  extent  upon  our  own  will."  l 

M.  Liard  has  put  this  moral  aspect  of  knowledge  very 
forcibly  in  the  following  passage  of  his  book,  "  La  M  eta- 
physique  et  la  Science."  "The  metaphysical  question,"  he 
says,  "  is  one  of  high  interest,  specially  from  a  moral  point  of 
view.  In  believing  in  duty,  we  feel  the  necessity  of  believing 
in  something  beyond  the  mere  order  of  logic  and  science.  We 
feel  within  ourselves  two  distinct  authorities,  the  law  of  thought 
and  the  law  of  morals.  The  authority  of  conscience  takes 
precedence  of  that  of  science.  On  the  very  threshold  of 
metaphysics  we  must  inscribe  a  moral  truth,  and  ask  of  the 
conscience  an  explanation  of  the  world  in  harmony  with  it.  The 
moral  metaphysic,  which  can  only  meet  the  deepest  specula- 
tive requirements  of  the  mind  with. the  answers  of  conscience, 
does  not  necessarily  carry  conviction  with  it.  In  order  to 
receive  it,  there  must  be  the  acquiescence  of  the  will,  the  belief 
that  moral  truth  is  the  summum  bonum.  An  example  of 
virtue,  however  obscure,  is  a  better  auxiliary  to  metaphysics 
than  the  most  brilliant  scientific  discovery."  2 

"  The  personal  act  which  is  required  of  us,"  as  M.  Olle" 

1  "La  Certitude  Morale,"  Olle  Laprune,  pp.  368-376. 

8  "  La  Metaphysique  et  la  Science  Physique,"  Liard,  p.  4& 


120  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

Laprune  well  says,  "  has  the  result,  not  of  submitting  the  truth 
to  the  person,  but  the  person  to  the  truth/'  l 

Let  it  be  observed  that  we  make  no  concession  to  anti- 
scientific  mysticism,  in  assigning  a  large  part  to  the  will  in  the 
attainment  of  moral  certainty.  We  adhere  faithfully  to  the 
general  and  universal  laws  of  certainty.  These  laws,  which 
govern  all  experience,  have  been  admirably  set  forth  by  Claude 
Bernard  in  his  introduction  to  the  experimental  method.  He 
there  recognises  most  distinctly  that  the  experimenter  is  not 
to  read  the  lesson  to  nature,  but  is  entirely  to  subordinate  his 
preconceived  ideas  to  the  facts  observed.  He  says :  "  So  soon 
as  nature  speaks,  the  experimenter  must  be  silent.  He  must 
never  reply  for  her,  nor  listen  hurriedly  to  her  replies.  In 
nature,  that  which  our  theories  declare  to  be  absurd  is  not 
always  impossible." 2  Claude  Bernard  lays  it  down  as  a  rule 
that  our  experimental  processes  ought  to  vary  with  the  objects 
of  our  investigation.  "The  processes  of  experiment,"  he  says, 
"  ought  to  be  infinitely  varied,  according  to  the  different 
sciences  and  the  varying  cases,  more  or  less  difficult  and  com- 
plex, to  which  they  are  applied."  That  which  is  true  of  the 
purely  natural,  is  equally  true  of  the  domain  of  conscience,  the 
higher  sphere  of  moral  truth.  It  ought  to  have  its  own  pro- 
cesses and  proper  method  of  observation.  Simple  logical 
deduction  is  here  as  much  out  of  place  as  the  scalpel  and  the 
telescope.  Primary  truths  are  perceived  by  intuition ;  moral 
truths  require  in  addition  the  exercise  of  the  will.  This 
intuition,  accompanied  with  a  right  will,  may  well  be  called 
moral  faith.  This  faith  will  not  be  an  act  of  implicit  belief 
ignoring  experiment,  but  a  higher  mode  of  experiment  applied 
to  first  principles — the  only  one  applicable  in  this  domain, 
which  does  not  admit  of  proof  and  reasoning  because  it  lays 
down  axioms  and  fundamental  truths ;  while,  if  they  in  their 

1  "  La  Certitude  Morale,"  Olle  Laprune,  p.  364. 

8  "  Introduction  a  la  Medecine  Experimentale."  Claude  Bernard, 
PP-  4,  7,  364. 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    121 

turn  bad  to  be  sustained  by  evidence,  they  would  cease  to  be 
the  foundations  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  order.  That 
which  demands  proof,  is  not  the  true  beginning.  "  It  is  this 
light  which  determines  faith  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the 
obscure  region  where  it  is  not  to  be  absorbed  in  stolid  pos- 
session of  an  unintelligible  object,  but  is  to  strive  after  and 
achieve  new  and  clearer  light."  l 

The  intuitive  faith  of  which  we  speak,  is  in  truth  a  form  of 
experiment,  and  the  only  one  adapted  to  this  order  of  truths. 
This  intuition,  by  its  very  nature,  cannot  be  a  simple  deduc- 
tion, drawing  one  after  another  the  consequences  of  certain 
premisses,  for  it  rises  to  the  principle  itself.  This  it  does 
by  the  boldest  of  inductions,  breaking  through  the  finite  as 
through  the  walls  of  a  prison,  and  lifting  itself  to  the  divine 
infinite. 

In  order  to  arrive  at  this  it  must  doubtless  be  attracted  and 
vivified  by  it.  As  Pere  Gratry  has  well  said :  "  There  are 
movements  which  the  mind  left  to  itself  does  not  make  ;  it 
may  deduce,  but  it  does  not  take  an  unaided  flight." 2  We 
cannot,  however,  admit  the  sharp  dualism  which  he  maintains, 
between  the  first  operation  of  the  mind,  acquiring  moral  truth 
by  intuition,  and  the  second  operation,  by  which  it  becomes 
united  to  the  Divine  ;  as  though  reason  were  divorced  from 
faith.  It  is  not  so.  From  its  very  beginning,  moral  certainty 
is  an  act  at  once  human  and  divine.  As  soon  as  man  comes 
into  contact  with  the  living  truth,  there  is  a  correlation  between 
him  and  God.  The  light  no  doubt  grows,  but  it  reaches  its 
noontide  fulness  in  the  same  way  as  its  dawn.  The  first  act  of 
faith  or  of  intuition,  by  which  man  apprehends  the  categorical 
imperative,  and  with  it  the  Legislator  Himself,  is  of  the  same 
nature  as  the  act  which  subsequently  unites  him  closely  to  the 
Divine.  The  first  is  no  less  mysterious  than  the  second  ;  for 
the  mystery  consists  in  that  immeasurable  fulness  of  the  in- 

1  "La  Certitude  Morale,"  Olle  Laprune,  p.  365. 

3  *'  De  la  Connaissance  de  Dieu,"  Gratry,  vol.  ii.,  p.  287. 


122  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

finite  which  our  formulas  and  our  finite  minds  are  alike  in- 
capable of  containing.  Fenelon  has  said  with  profound  truth : 
"  I  only  count  upon  grace  to  guide  my  reason  within  the  limits 
of  reason." 

There  is  great  danger  in  establishing,  as  Pere  Gratry  and 
Malebranche  before  him  have  done,  an  absolute  distinction 
between  the  initial  act  of  reason  and  of  conscience,  and  that 
which  they  call  the  act  of  faith.  Faith,  in  the  sense  we  have 
accepted,  is  active  and  present  in  both  these  phases  of  know 
ledge.  The  difference  between  them  is  quantitative,  not 
qualitative.  Unless  we  admit  this,  we  are  in  danger  of  coming 
back  by  a  roundabout  way  to  the  scepticism  of  Bayle,  whose 
great  art  is  to  let  loose  the  reins  of  free  thought  in  the  natural 
or  rational  domain,  and  to  pull  them  up  short  before  the 
enclosed  domain  of  faith,  of  which  he  virtually  says :  "  It  is 
sacred,  for  none  may  touch  it.  Reason  has  destroyed,  or  is 
reducing  to  nothing,  all  religious  doctrines  ;  but  be  reassured, 
they  all  remain  intact  up  there  in  the  clouds,  in  the  empyrean 
of  unquestioning  faith."  We  do  not  admit  this  antinomy. 
Faith,  we  say,  is  active  in  the  first  operations  of  reason ;  and 
reason  accompanies  faith  in  the  development  of  religious  know- 
ledge. The  relations  of  the  two  were  well  put  by  Clement  of 
Alexandria,  early  in  the  third  century.  He  regards  faith  as  a 
legitimate  process  of  knowledge,  which,  so  far  from  suppressing 
the  experimental,  alone  renders  it  possible,  since  it  deals  with 
the  first  principles  which  are  apprehended  solely  by  intuition. 
We  cannot  admit  any  axiom  without  an  act  of  faith,  which  is 
nothing  else  than  that  which  Epicurus  himself  called  an  antici- 
pation of  the  mind.  This  intuition  of  faith  is  in  reality  the 
very  key  to  science,  its  first  condition.1  If  this  intuition  is 
necessary  even  for  the  first  principles  of  all  science,  how  much 
more  must  it  be  so  when  we  have  to  do  with  the  first  of 
all  principles,  the  living  Absolute,  which  is  God  ?  "  The  mind," 
says  Clement  of  Alexandria,  "rising  above  all  worlds,  above 
1  'H  ptv  alffOrjais  <?7ri/3cl0/>a  TTJS  eTrwn^s,  "  Stromata,"  II.  iv.  1 6. 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    123 

all  the  spheres  of  the  created,  soars  to  the  lofty  region  where 
dwells  the  King  of  worlds  ;  it  reaches  the  immutable  by  a  way 
which  is  itself  immutable."  Clement  assigns  its  legitimate 
share  to  the  will  in  this  act  of  faith  and  intuition,  by  which 
man  rises  to  the  Divine.  The  first  necessity  is,  that  the  soul 
should  aspire  to  the  higher  verity. 

"  The  beginning  of  wisdom  is  to  aim  at  that  which  is  useful. 
A  firm  decision  is  of  great  weight  in  the  acquisition  of  truth. 
The  will  takes  the  first  step.  We  need  to  rekindle  in  the 
depths  of  our  soul  the  living  spark  which  we  have  received, 
and  to  be  on  our  guard  against  the  idle  curiosity  which  would 
keep  the  mind  walking  up  and  down  in  the  truth,  as  we  walk 
up  and  down  in  a  city  to  admire  its  buildings.  Further,  we 
must  purify  our  souls,  for  it  is  with  the  temple  of  truth  as  with 
that  of  Epicurus,  on  the  forefront  of  which  were  inscribed 
these  words :  *  He  must  be  pure  who  enters  the  precincts  of 
the  sanctuary.' " l 

Clement  of  Alexandria  only  describes  the  grand  method, 
which  ought  to  govern  all  our  researches  after  truth,  when  he 
bases  his  apology  upon  the  principle  that  like  discerns  like. 

Is  not  this,  in  truth,  the  very  principle  of  the  experimental 
method,  which  consists  in  adapting  the  processes  of  observation 
to  the  nature  of  the  object  to  be  observed  ?  To  go  out  with 
one's  whole  soul  towards  the  being,  and  that  which  is  most 
evident  in  the  being,  this  is  good,  says  Plato.  Clement, 
who  believes  in  the  living  and  personal  God,  recognises  His 
action  upon  the  mind,  to  enlighten  and  vivify  it  ;  but  he 
holds  that  this  action  begins  with  the  earliest  illumination  of 
reason,  or  with  the  first  intuitions.  It  goes  on  increasing  and 
developing,  but  does  not  change  its  nature.  Faith  in  the 
highest  revelations  of  God,  faith  in  Christ,  obeys  the  same  laws 
as  the  faith  in  the  first  intuitions  of  consciousness  and  reason, 
by  which  we  rise  to  God.  He  thus  escapes  all  the  dangers 
of  dualism. 

1  "Stromata,"  III.  vi.  17. 


124  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

Nor  does  he,  under  pretext  of  fortifying  human  weakness,  set 
up  a  purely  external  power,  which  shall  impose  upon  us  deci- 
sions which  we  have  no  right  to  question.  This  implicit  trust, 
which  opens  an  unlimited  credit  with  a  high  court  of  doctrine, 
has  no  analogy  with  faith  as  we  have  understood  it.  Nothing 
is  more  dangerous  than  to  make  capital  of  the  unquestion- 
able fact  that  both  the  reason  and  conscience  are  ready  to 
accept,  at  the  dictum  of  a  higher  power,  that  which  is  contrary 
to  their  nature,  and  consequently  incapable  of  all  experiment 
and  all  knowledge.  Moral  certainty  is  gravely  compromised 
by  being  thus  identified  with  the  abandonment  of  reason  and 
the  assertion  of  a  presumed  infallibility.1  The  conscience 

1  M.  Olle  Laprune's  book  is  nevertheless,  as  a  whole,  very  remarkable 
for  the  way  in  which  he  establishes  the  part  taken  by  the  will  and  the 
reason  in  the  certainty  of  moral  faith'.  M.  Janet  has  discussed  the  funda- 
mental thesis  of  this  book  in  the  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes "  ("La 
Philosophic  de  la  Croyance,"Oct.  15,  1881).  While  recognising  the  share 
of  the  will  in  intellectual  exercises,  such  as  attention,  reflection,  assent, 
without  which  no  judgment  could  be  formed,  he  refuses  to  it  any  legiti- 
mate share  in  the  acquisition  of  higher  truths  from  a  moral  point  of  view. 
Let  us  be  well  understood.  We  think  with  M.  Janet  that  M.  Olle  Laprune 
is  wrong  in  holding  that  the  will  supplies  in  any  degree  whatever  the 
experimental  knowledge  of  truth.  There  are  not  in  fact  two  methods 
of  acquiring  knowledge  and  certainty.  There  is  but  one  method,  namely, 
experience.  But  experience  varies  its  processes,  that  they  may  be  adapted 
to  the  various  aspects  of  fact.  M.  Janet  holds,  as  we  do,  that  intuition 
plays  a  necessary  part  in  the  appropriation  of  the  truth  as  contained  in  the 
fundamental  axiomatic  principle  which  precedes  all  dialectics.  Practical 
reason  has,  like  metaphysical  reason,  its  intuitive  process,  by  which  it  ap- 
prehends thj  moral  axiom  which  is  the  categorical  imperative.  We  cannot 
reject  this  intuition  because  we  may  dread  it,  and  find  our  interest  in  not 
believing  in  duty.  Hence  our  will  is  involved  in  the  moral  question,  and 
must  decide  it.  It  does  not  create  or  demonstrate  the  moral  axiom,  but  it 
places  us  in  the  normal  condition  to  recognise  it.  As  this  axiom  is  a 
categorical  imperative,  a  command,  an  obligation,  it  is  our  distinct  duty  to 
accept  it  without  discussion,  at  least  generally,  as  the  principle  of  all 
morals  ;  for  we  would  sedulously  guard  against  including  as  axioms  all  its 
conclusions  and  practical  applications,  which  may  be  falsified  by  errors  of 
judgment.  We  maintain  therefore,  that  the  first  duty  is  to  believe 
thoroughly  in  duty,  which  is  the  very  basis  of  conscience.  We  do  not 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    125 

never  abdicates  its  rights,  else  we  should  be  deprived  of  the 
only  organ  by  which  we  can  know  moral  truth.  We  do  not 
shut  our  eyes  in  order  to  see  further. 

We  have  so  far  confined  ourselves  strictly  to  the  problem  of 
knowledge.  We  have  first  rescued  its  noblest  domain  from 
the  positivism  which  would  forbid  all  inquiry  into  causes. 
We  have  next  shown  how  the  principle  of  causation  points  to 
something  above  ourselves,  and  cannot  be  explained  away 
into  the  mere  association  of  ideas,  themselves  composed  only 
of  images  and  sensations.  After  having  traced  it  in  the 
reason  as  the  essential  a  priori  element,  which  it  derives  only 
from  itself,  we  have  found  that  it  carries  us  upward  to  the 
cause  of  causes,  of  which  we  have  the  idea,  and  to  which  we 
aspire  from  the  lowness  of  our  imperfect  state,  thus  proving 
that  it  is  not  in  ourselves.  We  have  found  that  the  great 
Cartesian  proof  is  as  strong  as  ever,  that  it  has  indeed  gained 
in  the  end  by  the  reaction  of  German  and  French  criticism ; 
for  this  has  shaken  off  the  intellectualism  which  weakened 
it,  and  subordinated  intellectual  to  moral  certainty.  We 
have  not  been  able  to  admit  the  radical  contradiction  main- 
tained by  the  critical  school  between  metaphysical  and 
practical  reason.  We  maintain  first,  that  both  have  need  of 
the  will  to  give  them  effect,  and  second,  that  while  the  cate- 
gories of  pure  reason  are  the  object  of  experience  in  the 
activity  of  the  ego,  practical  reason  implies  the  reality  of  the 
world  in  which  the  mandates  of  the  imperative  are  to  be 
obeyed.  The  principle  of  causation  derived  from  pure  as 
well  as  from  practical  reason,  or,  to  speak  more  exactly,  from 
the  mind  of  man  considered  as  a  whole,  leads  us  by  the  most 
irresistible  induction  to  the  God,  who  is  at  once  the  Infinite 
Being  and  the  Absolute  Good ;  and  as  it  introduces  us  into 


derogate  from  the  laws  of  moral  certainty,  as  it  appears  to  us  M.  Olle 
Laprune  does,  by  concessions  to  human  testimony  which  lead  him  by  a 
circuit  to  accept  the  authority  of  the  infallible  tribunal  of  the  Church. 


126  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

the  moral  domain  par  excellence,  we  only  enter  it  by  bringing 
ourselves  into  harmony  with  it.  Hence  the  share  of  the  will 
in  moral  certainty. 

It  may  be  said  that,  without  going  further  than  the  problem 
of  knowledge,  the  cause  of  spiritualistic  philosophy  is  already 
gained ;  but  we  have  no  right  so  to  restrict  ourselves.  We  are 
bound  to  look  beyond  ourselves,  to  turn  to  the  world,  to  the 
world  of  nature  and  to  that  of  history,  in  order  to  ascertain 
whether  they  contradict  the  results  arrived  at.  Only  we  know 
ho\v  to  interrogate  them  by  virtue  of  that  great  principle  of 
causation  which  we  have  tried  to  place,  at  least  as  far  as  we 
ourselves  are  concerned,  above  doubt  or  question. 

We  have  concluded,  with  Descartes,  that  "  there  ought  to 
be  at  least  as  much  reality  in  the  efficient  cause,  as  in  the 
effect  of  that  cause ; "  that  the  effect  can  only  derive  its 
reality  from  its  cause  "  that  nothing  can  be  produced  by 
nothing,  nor  yet  that  which  is  more  perfect,  i.e.,  which 
contains  in  itself  more  of  reality,  from  that  which  is  less  per- 
fect ; " !  in  a  word,  that  the  greater  cannot  be  derived  from  the 
less.2 

1  Descartes.     "  Meditations,"  p.  157. 

2  M.  1'Abbe  de  Broglie,  Professor  of  Christian  Apologetics  in  the  Catholic 
Institute  of  Paris,  has  published  an  important  book  on  the  problem  of 
knowledge,  entitled  :  "  Le  Positivisme  et  la  Science  -Experimentale. "     It 
reviews  not  only  the  Positivist  school,  but  all  collateral  or  derived  theories, 
such  as  the  transformist  monism  of  Herbert  Spencer  and  of  Hseckel.     The 
extensive  scientific  acquirements  of  the  writer  give  great  precision  to  his 
discussion.     We  shall  have  occasion  more  than  once  to  quote  him  in  the 
course  of  this  work.     For  the  present  we  shall  simply  try  to  indicate  his 
general  standpoint.     M.  1'Abbe  de  Broglie  endeavours  to  establish,  against 
the  Positivist  school,  that  the  mind  of  man   can  arrive  at  substances  and 
causes,  and  that  it  is  not  confined  to  the  purely  subjective.      He  takes 
his  stand  on  what  he  calls  common  sense,   that  implicit  certainty  of  the 
reality  of  the   object  of  knowledge,    which  is  admitted  to  be   universal 
by  something   stronger  than  mere    universal  consent.      It  presents  itself 
indeed  in  a  confused  sort  of  way,   which  philosophy  is  to  clear  up,   but 
only  with  a  view  to  better  establishing  its  fundamental  certainty.     The 
author  goes  into  a  most  minute  and  learned  analysis  of  our  sensations,  in 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE.    127 

order  to  prove  t1  .at,  if  it  must  be  acjmitted  that  they  are  only  a  translation  of 
outward  realities,  they  are  nevertheless  a  faithful  translation.  The  reader 
will  feel  a  special  interest  in  the  part  of  his  book  which  distinguishes 
between  the  sense  of  touch,  which  brings  us  into  direct  contact  with  bodies, 
and  the  senses  of  sight  and  hearing,  which  evidently  only  give  us  the  object 
transformed,  since,  apart  from  our  sensations,  there  are  no  colours  or  sounds, 
but  only  vibrations  of  the  air.  He  endeavours  to  show  that  common  sense 
is  not  mistaken  in  believing  in  the  noumenon;  that  is  to  say,  in  the  reality  of 
the  object ;  for  science  is  based  upon  belief  in  this  reality,  and  the  sense 
of  touch  brings  it  close  to  us,  as  in  bodies.  As  to  the  principle  of  causation, 
which  is  equally  plain  to  common  sense,  it  is  not  only  inherent  in  our 
reason,  but  is  manifest  also  in  the  best  ascertained  facts  of  natural  science, 
for  in  its  ultimate  generalisations,  this  science  always  demands  a  cause. 
It  is  idle  to  speak  of  light,  electricity,  heat,  as  mere  motion ;  science 
nevertheless  goes  on  to  seek  in  the  vibrations  of  the  ether  the  cause  of 
these  changes.  With  regard  to  spiritual  substance  and  free  causation,  M. 
de  Broglie  appeals  to  the  deeper  moral  sense  which  is  the  highest  form  of 
common  sense.  This  expression,  which  plays  so  large  a  part  in  his  discus- 
sion, does  not  seem  to  us  happily  chosen.  It  savours  too  much  of  the 
empirical,  especially  as  M.  de  Broglie  owns  that  this  common  sense  has 
constantly  to  be  corrected.  Processes  of  analysis  and  successive  approxi- 
mations are,  in  his  view,  constantly  going  on.  \Ve  prefer  to  appeal  to 
the  great  primordial  intuitions  of  the  human  mind,  to  that  &  priori  which 
is  its  essence  and  which  is  formulated  in  the  categories.  I  know  indeed 
that  this  does  not  enable  us  directly  to  apprehend  reality,  since  we  only 
perceive  reality  according  to  the  laws  of  our  understanding.  But  the 
author  who  is  bound  to  admit  that  sensation  gives  us  only  a  translation  of 
the  reality,  comes  no  nearer  to  it  by  his  system.  As  M.  Janet  well 
observes,  in  his  review  of  M.  de  Broglie's  book,  touch  itself  does  not  give 
us  the  direct  reality,  for  cutaneous  and  muscular  sensations  are  purely 
subjective  ("Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  June  I,  1882).  The  author  too 
much  ignores  relative  truth,  and  therefore  the  merit  of  the  great  critical 
school.  Kantism  he  regards  as  pure  scepticism.  He  forgets  the  great  act 
of  faith  in  the  moral  world  which  crowns  the  system  and  which,  as  we  have 
tried  to  show,  ought  to  lead  further  than  subjectivism  in  the  conception  of 
nature,  and  to  issue  in  a  real  world,  always  with  this  reservation — that  we 
know  it  only  in  a  translation. 

"Why,"  as  M.  Janet  says  again,  "should  we  reduce  the  laws  of  the 
mind  to  pure  subjectivity  ?  Why  should  not  the  mind  be  the  legislator  of 
nature,  though  it  is  not  its  Creator?"  That  the  translation  is  faithful,  is 
implied  by  the  very  faith  in  God  and  in  moral  order.  The  Cartesian 
argument  of  the  Divine  veracity  is  thus  strengthened.  "  The  idealist 
hypothesis  owes  its  value  to  an  equivocation  by  which  objectivity  is  con- 
founded with  materiality  "  (Janet).  After  all,  M.  de  Broglie  appeals,  like 


128  THE  PROBLEM  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

Kant,  to  intuition  for  the  whole  order  of  higher  truths.  St.  Thomas  Aquinas 
will  no  longer  suffice  ;  it  is  not  possible  to  ignore  the  great  critical  school, 
especially  when  so  many  concessions  have  in  fact  to  be  made  to  it.  While 
making  these  reservations,  we  commend  to  the  reader  M.  de  Broglie's 
book,  as  containing  very  keen,  original  and  conclusive  arguments  against 
some  of  the  essential  points  of  Positivism  and  monism. 


BOOK     SECOND. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  COSMOS. 

ONE  of  the  strongest  living  advocates  of  materialism,  after 
enumerating  the  simple  bodies  discovered  by  chemistry,  con- 
cludes with  these  words  :  "  Hydrogen,  oxygen,  carbon,  etc., 
are  the  elements  at  present  recognised  as  constituting  the 
earth,  its  products,  its  inhabitants,  and  its  atmosphere.  From 
the  facts  thus  acquired,  we  draw  a  conclusion  broad  enough 
to  comprehend  all  the  partial  modifications  with  which 
experience  may  make  us  acquainted.  The  things  which  in 
their  totality  are  expressed  by  the  word  universe,  are  formed 
of  a  certain  number  of  known  substances,  beyond  which  there 
is  nothing.  Simple  bodies,  combined  in  various  proportions, 
have  received  and  will  retain  the  generic  name  of  matter."  l 

The  calmness  of  this  affirmation  amazes  us ;  we  could  fancy 
ourselves  again  in  the  school  of  Democritus.  This  is  surely 
a  childish  argument,  which  mistakes  the  appearance  for  the 
reality.  Yet  we  have  seen  in  our  previous  chapters,  that  this 
matter,  so  indubitable,  which  is  to  explain  everything,  and  our 
mind  first  of  all,  is  never  directly  approached  by  us ;  that  we 
only  know  it  through  the  sensation  which  modifies  it,  or  rather 
that  we  are  only  directly  certain  of  the  sensation,  that  is,  of  the 
facts  of  our  own  consciousness.  The  point  of  fixedness  and  cer- 
tainty eludes  the  lever  of  Archimedes,  as  soon  as  we  begin  to 
seek  it  outside  of  ourselves.  To  make  matter  the  starting-point 
from  which  we  are  to  proceed  to  the  explanation  of  things  and 

"La  Philosophic,"  A.  Lefevre,  p.  46. 

131 


132  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

of  mind,  is  to  explain  the  better  by  the  less  known.  Again, 
the  advances  of  science  have  more  and  more  refined  away  and 
idealised  the  notion  of  matter.  Descartes  made  it  to  consist 
in  extension ;  but  no  perception  of  the  senses  directly  gives  us 
extension.  We  feel  a  certain  resistance,  we  see  certain  colours, 
but  there  is  nothing  in  this  to  give  us  the  notion  of  extension. 
These  sensations,  moreover,  like  all  others,  are  facts  of  the  con- 
sciousness which  modify,  in  a  proportion  we  have  no  means  of 
determining,  the  phenomena  perceived.  What,  again,  are  we 
to  understand  by  this  extension,  which  constitutes  matter  ?  Is 
it  pure  empty  space?  Nothing  could  be  more  remote  from 
what  we  mean,  for  how  can  a  vacuum  resemble  bodies  ?  Is  it 
the  plurality  of  atoms  which  are  the  parts  of  the  whole  which 
we  call  matter?  But  these  atoms  have  not  disclosed  their 
secret.  We  have  only  put  the  difficulty  a  step  further  back  ; 
we  fail  to  find  anywhere  the  ultimate  elements,  the  true  com- 
ponent parts  of  extension.  Hence  it  follows  that  extension  is 
a  conception  of  our  mind,  and  consequently  is  directly  opposed 
to  materialism.1 

Let  us  then  discard  extension  as  an  obsolete  definition  of 
matter,  and  try  the  atomic  theory. 

Lange  has  shown  how  the  atom  itself  eludes  entirely  the 
grasp  of  the  sensations.  The  indivisible  atom,  which  should 
be  the  ultimate  constituent  of  matter,  has  no  existence.  "  It  is 
itself  composed  of  sub-atoms;  and  these  sub-atoms?  They 
either  resolve  themselves  into  mere  force-centres,  or  if  in  them 
again  elastic  impact  has  to  play  any  part,  they  must  in  turn 
consist  of  sub-atoms,  and  we  should  again  have*  that  process 
running  on  into  infinity.  .  .  .  Accordingly  there  is  already 
contained  in  Atomism  itself,  while  it  seems  to  establish  Ma- 
terialism, the  principles  which  break  up  all  matter,  and  thus 
cut  away  the  ground  from  Materialism  also." 2  "  If  now,  with 
Ampere,  we  resolve  the  atom  too  into  a  joint  without  exten- 

1  "Le  Materialisme,"  Rabier,  Encyclopedic. 

2  "  History  of  Materialism,"  Lange.     Lichtenberger,  vol.  ii.,  p.  376. 


ORIGIN  OF   THE   COSMOS.  133 

sion,  and  the  forces  which  group  themselves  about  it ;  the 
point,  'the  nothing'  must  be  matter."1  According  to  Du 
Bois  Reymond,  if  we  attempt,  like  Biichner,  to  connect  matter 
closely  with  force,  conceived  as  the  cause  of  motion,  the  at- 
tempt is  nothing  else  "  than  a  more  recondite  product  of  the 
irresistible  tendency  to  personification  which  is  impressed 
upon  us.  ...  What  do  we  gain  by  saying  it  is  reciprocal 
attraction,  whereby  two  particles  of  matter  approach  each 
other  ?  Not  the  shadow  of  an  insight  into  the  nature  of  the 
fact.  But,  strangely  enough,  our  inherent  quest  of  causes  is 
in  a  manner  satisfied  by  the  involuntary  image  tracing  itself 
before  our  inner  eye,  of  a  hand  which  gently  draws  the  inert 
matter  to  it,  or  of  invisible  tentacles  with  which  the  particles  of 
matter  clasp  each  other,  try  to  draw  each  other  close,  and  at 
last  twine  together  into  a  knot."  2 

The  constant  tendency  of  science  is  to  resolve  matter  into 
force.  We  call  matter  that  which  we  find  ourselves  unable  to 
resolve  into  force.  In  short,  in  the  present  state  of  the  phy- 
sical and  natural  sciences,  matter  is  everywhere  the  unknown, 
force  is  the  known.  "  The  misunderstood  or  unintelligible 
remainder  from  our  analysis  is  always  the  matter,  however  far 
we  choose  to  carry  it.  ...  The  matter  is  invariably  what 
we  cannot  or  will  not  further  resolve  into  forces.  Our  ten- 
dency to  personification,  or,  if  we  use  Kant's  phrase,  what 
comes  to  the  same  thing,  the  category  of  substance,  compels  us 
always  to  conceive  one  of  these  ideas  as  subject,  the  other  as 
predicate.  As  we  analyse  the  things  step  by  step,  the  as  yet 
unanalysed  remainder  always  remains  as  matter,  the  true  repre- 
sentative of  the  thing."  3 

These  conclusions  of  the  learned  author  of  the  "  History  of 
Materialism,"  disturb  the  pure  faith  of  the  apostles  of  this 
doctrine.  M.  Lefevre,  in  his  latest  work,4  makes  it  a  severe 

1  "  History  of  Materialism,"  Lange,  vol.  ii.,  p.  379. 

1  Ibid.,  p.  378.  3  Ibid.,  p.  379. 

4  "  Renaissance  du  Materialisme,"  A.  Lefevre,  p.  31 


134  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

reproach  against  Lange,  that  he  also  seeks  that  which  lies 
beyon  d,  the  wherefore  of  things,  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  a 
wild  idealism.  He  says:  "If  Lange  had  been  content  to 
group  together  the  results  obtained  from  experience,  and  to 
derive  from  them  the  conclusions  to  which  they  point,  by 
means  of  the  ordinary  faculties  and  operations  of  the  human 
organism  (sensation,  memory,  abstraction,  generalisation),  he 
would  not  have  shaken  the  solid  ground  of  positive  science, 
and  he  would  have  acknowledged  that  in  the  world  which  man 
knows  under  the  recognised  conditions  of  knowledge,  there  is 
nothing  more  than  chemical  elements  and  their  combinations." 

M.  Lefevre  forgets  that  Lange,  in  this  part  of  his  book,  is 
not  inquiring  into  that  which  lies  beyond,  but  into  the  very 
essence  of  -things ;  that  he  is  not  spreading  the  wing  of  fancy 
or  speculation,  but  using  in  good  earnest  the  scalpel  of  the 
analyst. 

It  is  in  interrogating  the  conception  of  matter  that  he 
reduces  it  to  a  simple  idea;  it  is  by  means  of  those  very 
processes  of  knowledge  to  which  his  opponent  appeals, — 
sensation  and  generalisation, — that  he  establishes  that  the 
thing  which  we  know  least  is  that  v'ery  material  world  which 
M.  Lefevre  and  his  friends  present  to  us  with  such  happy 
but  ill-founded  confidence,  as  the  one  incontestable  reality. 
According  to  them,  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  but 
chemical  elements  in  combination ;  and  yet  we  find  that  this 
explanation  of  things  is  an  illusion  as  unphilosophic  as  the 
most  chimerical  legends  of  the  infancy  of  the  race.  We 
should  like,  before  entering  on  this  discussion,  to  recommend 
the  exercise  of  a  little  more  modesty  to  the  advocates  of 
materialism,  and  to  remind  this  great  phantom-slayer,  that  it 
is  itself  supremely  fanciful,  and  that  no  system  rests  upon  a 
more  frail  and  imaginative  basis  than  its  own.  It  believes 
only  in  sensation,  and  sensation  prevents  its  seeing  anything 
directly ;  it  can  never  escape  from  this  vicious  circle. 

It  might  be  thought  that  our  opposition  to  the  materialistic 


ORIGIN-  OF   THE   COSMOS.  135 

school  need  not  go  beyond  this  preliminary  question.  But 
such  is  not  our  view.  We  have  already  shown  that  the 
spiritualists  have  the  only  solid  foundation  for  certainty,  not 
only  in  relation  to  the  higher  truths,  but  also  with  regard  to 
those  of  the  external  world.  We  have  explained  the  reasons 
which  give  us  confidence  in  the  instrument  of  knowledge  and 
in  the  veracity  of  God.  We  shall  not  go  over  this  ground 
again.  We  shall  assuredly  not  ignore  the  share  of  the  sub- 
jective in  our  knowledge  of  things,  since  we  arrive  at  them 
only  through  sensation ;  but,  without  pretending  to  approach 
things  directly  and  exactly  as  they  are,  we  are  convinced  that 
there  is  a  general  and  fundamental  correspondence  between, 
the  object  known  and  the  subject  knowing.  Thus,  although 
we  might  refuse  to  accept  the  conclusion  of  materialism 
because  it  cannot  be  based  on  anything  but  sensation,  and 
while  we  still  retain  all  that  is  decisive  against  it  in  this 
argument,  we  will  concede  to  it  the  existence  of  this  world, 
though  it  has  not  the  same  ground  for  affirming  it  that  we  have. 
Setting  aside  now  the  arguments  in  support  of  theism  which 
we  have  already  found  in  our  theory  of  knowledge,  we  will 
interrogate  the  universe  and  inquire  whether,  supposing 
materialism  is  entitled  to  affirm  the  existence  of  things,  it 
gives  an  adequate  explanation  of  them  when  it  maintains  that, 
apart  from  chemical  elements  and  their  combinations,  there 
is  nothing. 

This  inquiry,  to  be  conclusive,  implies  that  we  accept  the 
results  of  science  duly  authenticated,  and  that  we  acknowledge, 
without  limitation,  their  authority  in  this  department.  It  is 
clear  that  what  we  want  is  a  succinct  explanation  of  its  leading 
points  and  distinctive  features. 

I.  THE  REIGN  OF  LAW  IN  NATURE. 

The  further  we  descend  in  the  intellectual  scale,  the  more 
the  world  appears  devoid  of  thought,  self-contained,  without 
explanation,  plan,  design.  The  animal,  reduced  to  sensation, 


136  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

incapable  of  reflexion  or  generalisation,  sees  only  in  the 
world  that  which  it  seeks,  its  plentiful  storehouse,  its  abun- 
dant pasture.  The  savage  has  a  vague  presentiment  of  some 
mysterious  cause,  because  the  reason  which  slumbers  within 
him  darts  some  illuminating  rays  through  his  dull  uncultured 
brain ;  but  he  does  not  look  beyond  things  as  they  are.  He 
imagines  that  the  world  before  his  eyes  has  always  been  ;  that 
the  same  sun  has  lightened  it,  the  same  showers  watered 
it ;  that  the  forest  has  always  been  peopled  with  the  game 
which  he  seeks  in  the  chase  and  the  wild  beasts  which  he 
tries  to  destroy.  Sensation  knows  no  before  or  after.  It  is 
content  with  that  which  appears ;  and  to  all  appearance  nature 
is  immutable,  constantly  reproducing  the  same  series  of  phe- 
nomena in  endless  succession.  Nothing  could  be  more  akin 
to  materialism  than  the  conception  of  the  savage,  or  rather  of 
the  child;  for  the  savage  does  not  escape  the  tendency  to 
go  back  to  ca.uses  and  principles,  with  this  difference  that 
materialism  attempts  to  justify  its  thesis  by  science,  and  that 
this  very  attempt  to  justify  itself  suffices  to  break  through  its 
self-imposed  limitations;  for  it  proves  thought  by  thinking, 
just  as  we  prove  motion  by  walking.  All  thought  is  an  un- 
definable  something,  not  to  be  derived  from  the  combination 
of  chemical  elements.  Even  the  materialistic  explanation  of 
the  world,  moreover,  certainly  implies  that  the  creature  of  mere 
sensation  feels  the  need  of  explaining  something  or  other; 
which  is  a  contradiction. 

This  explanation  however,  by  the  very  fact  that  it  has  recourse 
to  science,  is  obliged  to  take  cognisance  of  more  than  the 
mere  appearance,  at  least  as  regards  the  origin  of  the  world. 
It  is  constrained  to  recognise  that  that  which  is  before  our 
eyes  has  not  always  been,  that  it  is  the  product,  the  effect  of  a 
vast  evolution.  This  earth  upon  which  we  tread  has  been 
formed  stratum  upon  stratum,  as  the  result  of  geologic  con- 
vulsions which  have  successively  fused,  flooded,  wrested,  and 
fashioned  it  to  what  it  is.  In  each  of  these  strata  lie  embedded 


ORIGIN  OF  THE   COSMOS.  137 

petrified  fauna  and  flora,  which  bear  the  date  of  revolutions 
accomplished  in  remote  ages,  and  the  relics  of  which  are  like 
archaeological  medals.  The  sea  which  bathes  our  coasts 
without  overwhelming  them,  the  air  which  we  breathe,  have 
only  arrived  at  this  state  of  relative  equilibrium  after  periods  of 
wild  commotion  when  the  world  was  but  chaos.  The  world 
may  take  up  the  words  which  a  French  poet  puts  into  the 
mouth  of  Time, — 

"  Vous  ne  m'avez  connu  que  vieux" 

Science  has  shown  us  also  that  the  starry  vault,  which  seems 
the  very  image  of  stability,  has  its  history,  and  that  its  for- 
mation, though  we  put  it  back  myriads  of  years,  was  the  work 
of  successive  periods.  In  the  Introduction  to  his  treatise, 
"  Les  6poques  de  la  Nature," — an  exceedingly  ingenious  work 
in  which,  with  the  intuition  of  genius,  he  anticipates  some  of 
the  methods  of  modern  geology, — Buffon  says  :  "  As  in  civil 
history,  we  consult  archives,  examine  medals,  and  decipher 
ancient  inscriptions,  in  order  to  determine  the  epochs  of 
human  revolutions  and  to  verify  the  dates  of  great  historical 
events ;  so  in  natural  history,  we  must  search  the  archives  of 
the  world,  excavate  the  monuments  of  past  ages  of  the  earth, 
put  together  the  fragments,  and  gather  into  one  body  of 
evidence  all  the  indications  of  physical  changes  which  can 
fix  for  us  the  different  epochs  of  nature.  Thus  only  can  we 
fix  certain  points  in  the  immensity  of  space,  and  place  a  few 
milestones  of  time  along  the  eternal  highway."1 

The  world  in  which  we  live  points  us  back  to  an  earlier 
state.  It  is  after  all  only  an  effect.  Its  present  constitution 
is  the  result  of  a  process  of  development  as  stupendous  in  the 
forces  it  has  called  into  play,  as  in  the  length  of  time  required 
for  its  accomplishment.  This  development  is  no  longer  a 
mystery  to  us,  for  the  forces  which  produced  it  are  still  in 
operation  before  our  eyes,  though  they  have  lost  much  of  their 
1  "CEuvres,"  Buffon,  vol.  v.,  p.  I 


133  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

intensity,  and  the  changes  which  they  bring  about  rarely 
amount  to  cataclysms  like  those  of  the  great  geologic  eras. 
The  soil  of  our  planet  is  partially  modified  by  influences  which 
we  recognise  as  of  daily  occurrence.  Earthquakes  repeatedly 
break  up  the  crust  of  the  earth.  Volcanic  eruptions  pour  upon 
its  surface,  under  the  form  of  lava,  the  substances  which  are 
amalgamated  in  a  state  of  incandescence  in  the  earth's  centre. 
Sediments  or  deposits  from  water  form  the  alluvial  lands.  The 
sea  frets  its  shores  and  changes  their  outlines.  Madrepores 
and  polypi,  by  their  slow  cumulative  labour,  rear  the  coral 
islands  of  the  ocean.  Finally,  the  atmosphere  has  a  most 
powerful  chemical  action.  Allow  to  all  these  agents  of  geologic 
transformations  an  indefinite  length  of  time  to  produce  their 
effects  ',  suppose  them  at  their  maximum  of  power,  and  the 
great  evolutions  of  our  planet  are  explained.  It  matters  little 
whether  their  operation  takes  the  form  of  sudden  and  violent 
crises  or  of  progressive  development,  or  whether  the  one 
alternates  with  the  other ;  the  cause  is  in  any  case  adequate  to 
the  effect.  Humboldt  says  in  his  "  Cosmos,"  "  Movements  in 
the  crust  of  the  earth,  sometimes  sudden  and  in  shocks,  some- 
times continuous  and  almost  imperceptible,  alter,  in  the  course 
of  centuries,  the  relative  elevation  of  the  land  and  sea  and 
the  configuration  of  the  land  beneath  the  ocean  ;  while  at  the 
same  time,  communications  are  formed  between  the  interior  of 
the  earth  and  the  atmosphere,  either  through  temporary  clefts 
or  more  permanent  openings.  Molten  masses,  issuing  from 
unknown  depths,  flow  in  narrow  streams  down  the  declivities 
of  mountains,  sometimes  with  an  impetuous  and  sometimes 
with  a  slow  and  gentle  motion,  until  the  fiery  subterranean 
fount  is  dry,  and  the  lava  solidifies  under  a  crust  which  it  has 
itself  formed.  We  thus  see  new  rocks  produced  under  our 
eyes,  whilst  those  of  earlier  formation  are  altered  by  the 
influence  of  heat,  rarely  in  immediate  contact,  more  often  in 
proximity.  .  .  .  These  processes  of  formation  and  stratifi- 
cation going  on  before  our  eyes,  in  modes  so  different, — and 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  COSMOS.  139 

the  disruption,  flexure,  and  elevation  of  rocks  and  strata  by 
mutual  pressure  and  by  the  agency  of  volcanic  forces, — lead 
the  thoughtful  observer,  by  simple  analogies,  to  compare  the 
present  with  the  past,  to  combine  actual  phenomena,  to 
generalise,  and  to  amplify  in  thought  the  extent  and  intensity 
of  the  forces  now  in  operation."  l 

In  this  history  of  our  planet  (which  it  is  not  our  present 
purpose  to  retrace,  for  our  work  does  not  pretend  to  the  fulness 
and  exactness  of  a  strictly  scientific  exposition)  we  wish  only 
to  note  one  point,  namely,  the  degree  to  which  this  geologic 
drama  of  storm  and  cataclysm,  destruction  and  reconstruction, 
in  which  the  cosmical  forces  seem  to  come  into  fortuitous 
collision,  is  really  governed  by  inflexible  laws.  We  have  first 
of  all  only  a  globe  of  fire ;  how  is  its  solid  crust  to  be  formed  ? 
By  the  application  of  a  well-known  law.  Its  heat  disperses 
itself  in  the  planetary  space  ;  the  effect  of  this  is  to  produce  a 
solidification  of  its  surface  as  fine  as  the  bloom  on  a  peach. 
This  is  primitive  granite.  To  complete  its  formation  it  needs 
water  and  air.  The  cooling  caused  by  the  evaporation  pro- 
duces in  the  atmosphere  the  degree  of  temperature  needed  for 
the  combination  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen,  for  above  two  thou- 
sand degrees  centigrade  they  would  not  have  the  requisite  af- 
finity. We  now  have  in  air  and  water,  the  great  cosmic  agents 
which  will  come  into  operation  and  together  give  to  our  planet 
its  ultimate  form.  The  atmospheric  vapour  which  has  con- 
densed into  water,  will  again  become  vapour  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  temperature  still  very  high,  but  only  to  return  imme- 
diately to  the  liquid  state.  Thus  will  be  formed  a  dome  of 
thick  clouds  charged  with  electricity,  receiving  no  light  but 
that  of  the  lightning  which  is  about  to  rend  it.  The  waters 
being  to  put  in  motion  the  deposits  of  the  fine  coating  of  gra- 
nite ;  they  crumble  and  wear  them  away  and  the  first  strati- 
fications or  deposits  of  earth  are  formed  in  layers.  From  the 
burning  entrails  of  the  volcanic  rocks  the  igneous  floods  pour 
1  "Cosmos,"  Humboldt,  vol.  i.,  pp.  146,  147. 


140  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

forth  ;  and  thus  the  limestone  is  formed.  Limestone  is  else- 
where deposited  in  deep  sea  beds. 

The  sea  covers  the  whole  planet.  Thus  the  fauna  is  entirely 
rudimentary  and  aquatic,  destitute  of  the  organ  of  sight,  which 
would  be  useless  to  it  The  islands  emerge ;  the  fauna 
becomes  richer,  fishes  appear.  At  the  close  of  the  primary 
period,  the  mountains  appear.  The  primitive  flora  imbedded 
in  the  soil,  there  stores  up  heat  under  the  form  of  carbon.  In 
the  secondary  period,  we  have  a  great  development  of  the 
animal  kingdom ;  the  saurians  and  marsupials  appear.  The 
tertiary  period  produces  the  large  animals.  The  quarternary 
gives  to  the  planet  its  present  conditions  of  existence. 

How  closely  the  whole  of  this  evolution  harmonises,  even 
in  detail,  with  the  laws  of  physics  and  of  chemistry,  is  brought 
out  very  clearly  in  M.  Daubree's  learned  book  on  experimental 
geology.1  We  find  here  more  than  the  grouping  of  facts  and 
the  deduction  of  their  consequences.  The  author  gives  us  the 
brilliant  experiments  by  which  he  repeated,  under  his  own 
eyes,  the  operations  of  the  cosmic  forces  which  by  their 
combined  action  have  formed  the  strata  of  our  earth.  He 
reproduced  on  a  small  scale  a  number  of  geological  phenomena, 
some  chemical  and  physical,  others  mechanical;  thus  he  has 
thrown  new  light  on  the  history  of  metallic  deposits,  on  the 
formation  of  crystalline,  metamorphic,  and  eruptive  rocks ;  on 
clefts  and  chasms  in  the  earth,  and  on  the  origin  of  the  slaty 
cleavage  of  rocks.  By  this  mode  of  investigation  he  has 
obtained  demonstrative  proof  of  the  chemical,  physical,  and 
mineralogical  transformations  comprised  under  the  name  of 
metamorphism  which  play  so  important  a  part  in  the  history 
of  the  earth.  We  can  only  refer  the  reader  to  his  work  for  the 
detailed  account  of  these  experiments,  which  show  with  admir- 
able clearness  how  completely  even  the  most  inexplicable  and 
apparently  fortuitous  phenomena  are  governed  by  the  general 
laws  of  nature.  One  of  the  most  interesting  parts  of  his 

1  "  Etudes  Synthetiques  de  Geologic  Experimentale."  A.  Daubree,  1879. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE   COSMOS.  141 

book  is  that  devoted  to  aerolites  and  meteors,  which  are,  as  is 
well-known,  agglomerated  fragments  of  sidereal  matter.  Chemi- 
cal analysis  has  shown  that  none  of  the  simple  bodies  com- 
posing these  aerolites  are  foreign  to  our  globe.  In  this,  then, 
we  have  a  new  proof  of  the  link  which  binds  our  planet  to  the 
solar  and  sidereal  system.  The  composition  of  these  meteoric 
masses,  further,  teaches  us  that  the  heavenly  bodies  have  passed 
or  are  passing  through  chemical  evolutions  analogous  to  those 
of  the  lower  strata  of  our  planet,  and  that  they  have  been 
subject  to  the  action  of  heat  equally  intense.1 

We  have  thus  in  our  soil,  not  merely  the  chronological 
marks  of  the  various  phases  of  its  formation,  but  also  the 
palpable  proof  of  its  cosmic  origin,  and,  as  it  were,  fragments 
of  the  chain  which  binds  it  to  the  general  system  of  the 
universe. 

We  are  carried  beyond  itself  and  far  beyond  its  earliest 
geological  crises,  to  the  time  when  it  was  still  a  part  of  the 
sidereal  mass  from  which  it  has  since  been  detached.  Thus  we 
find  confirmation  of  the  great  hypothesis  of  Laplace  (of  which 
Kant  also  had  a  presentiment),  as  to  the  origin  of  our  planet 
and  of  the  sidereal  system  of  which  it  forms  a  part.  This 
hypothesis,  which  there  is  everything  to  support,  gives  a  new 
lustre  to  the  rational  order  which  presided  over  the  genesis  of 
the  world  itself,  before  setting  its  seal,  as  it  subsequently  did, 
on  all  its  manifold  developments  of  life  and  being. 

It  is  enough  for  our  purpose  to  give  a  rapid  glance  at  this 
general  hypothesis,  which  is  rapidly  becoming  a  certainty. 
According  to  Laplace,  the  earth  originally  formed,  with  the 
whole  solar  system,  part  of  a  nebula,  either  in  a  fluid  or  gase- 
ous state.  As  the  result  of  the  first  condensation,  it  became 
detached  and  received  an  impulse  of  gravitation  round  the  sun 
and  rotation  on  its  o\vn  axis.  The  sidereal  system  of  which  it 
formed  part,  would  also  turn  around  a  luminous  centre,  in  har- 
mony with  the  same  laws.  This  luminous  centre  probably 
1  "  La  Geologic  Experimentale."  A.  Daubree. 


142  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

depends  on  another  and  still  vaster  centre.  All  the  sidereal 
masses  obey  the  same  laws,  the  laws  formulated  by  Kepler 
and  Newton.  Thus  harmony  reigns  in  the  immense  spaces 
where  the  sidereal  matter  revolves  in  vast  masses.  Mechanics 
teaches  us  that  every  liquid  body,  subject  to  the  laws  of  gravi- 
tation, takes  a  spheroidal  form,  and  that  if  it  is  subject  to  the 
laws  of  rotation,  it  becomes  by  the  action  of  the  centrifugal 
force,  flattened  at  the  poles  and  protuberant  at  the  equator. 
This  law  has  been  confirmed  by  experiment  on  the  smallest 
scale,  thus  establishing  its  universality.  M.  Plateau,  a  physicist, 
succeeded  in  isolating  a  little  bubble  of  oil  and  making  it  rotate 
on  itself.  The  same  flattening  of  the  poles  and  protuberance  at 
the  equator  took  place,  and  a  few  tiny  particles  of  the  oil  being 
detached,  they  formed  a  satellite  corresponding  to  our  moon. 
"  The  celestial  bodies,  suns  or  planets,  comets  or  satellites," 
says  M.  Quatrefages,  in  his  able  book  on  the  human  species, 
"appear  to  be  nothing  more  than  the  molecules  of  a  great 
whole  filling  immensity.  All,  whether  gaseous  or  solid,  dark  or 
luminous,  incandescent  or  condensed,  move  in  courses  of  the 
same  kind,  and  obey  the  laws  discovered  by  Kepler." l  The 
law  of  gravitation,  which  governs  the  world,  is  found  at  work  in 
the  tiniest  grain  of  sand,  as  are  also  the  other  laws  which  regu- 
late physico-chemical  phenomena.  These  were  for  a  long  time 
ascribed  to  distinct  forces,  known  as  electricity,  heat,  magnetism. 
We  are  now  learning  more  and  more  to  recognise  their  original 
unity,  as  science  tends  to  trace  them  all  to  undulations  of  the 
ether,  the  nature  of  which  is  still  entirely  unknown.  The 
attempt  to  identify  these  physico-chemical  forces  with  gravita- 
tion, is  still  far  from  conclusive.  "  However  this  may  be,  the 
physico-chemical  phenomena,  like  those  caused  by  gravitation, 
are  subject  to  invariable  laws,  and  always  produce  the  same 
results  under  the  same  conditions.  All  the  combinations  of 
chemistry  are  mathematically  regulated.  The  difference  of 

•*De  1'Espece  Humaine,"  Quatrefages,  p.  3. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE   COSMOS.  143 

weight  in  the  combined  elements  modifies  in  the  same  propor- 
tion the  combinations  themselves." l 

We  find  then  absolute  regularity  governing  matter,  and 
subjecting  it  to  fixed  laws,  whether  it  exist  in  a  nebulous  form, 
diffusing  itself  through  vast  spaces ;  or  in  the  form  of  those 
stars  whose  splendour  dazzles  us  and  whose  movements  are 
more  exactly  regulated  than  those  of  the  most  perfect  clock ; 
or  in  the  tiny  bubble  of  oil  performing  its  motion  of  gravi- 
tation and  rotation.  The  stone  thrown  by  the  hand  of  a 
child,  obeys  these  laws  no  less  than  the  myriads  of  molecules 
which  combine  under  the  operation  of  the  laws  of  physics 
and  chemistry.  Every  result  is  according  to  weight  and 
measure,  so  that  science  can  follow  and  determine  the  march 
of  the  heavens,  can  predict  the  appearance  of  the  most  distant 
planet,  and  foretell  the  return  of  the  comet  which  seems  so 
suddenly  to  sweep  the  heavens  with  its  train  of  fire.  We  can 
well  understand  how,  as  he  contemplated  this  majestic  regu- 
larity of  the  sidereal  world,  the  old  Eastern  sage  was  filled  witli 
adoring  wonder,  and  that  he  took  these  stars  to  be  a  celestial 
choir  glorifying  the  mysterious  and  powerful  Being  whose 
wisdom  they  displayed  This  living  geometry,  these  mathe- 
matics of  the  empyrean,  seemed  divine  to  Pythagoras.. 
Numbers,  dry  and  abstract  to  us,  were  to  him  the  most 
suggestive  symbol,  because  they  made  manifest  the  principle 
of  order  in  the  universe  Thus  the  movement  of  the  spheres 
brought  to  him  the  echo  of  a  celestial  symphony,  a  triumphal 
hymn  to  the  glory  of  the  Divine  Wisdom  which  had  wrought 
all  the  diversity  of  elemental  things  into  one  great  unbroken 
harmony. 

We  have  traced  the  same  harmony  in  the  atom  as  in  the 
star ;  its  molecules  group  themselves,  obeying  laws  as  certain 
and  invariable  as  those  which  trace  the  orbits  of  the  planets. 
There  is  not  a  particle  of  matter,  however  great,  however 
small,  which  escapes  these  laws.  We  may  well  feel  ourselves, 
1  "De  I'Esp&ce  Humaine,"  Quatrefages,  p.  3. 


144  THE  PROBLEM   OF  BEING. 

like  Pascal,  overwhelmed  alike  before  the  infinitely  great  in  the 
boundless  immensity  of  space,  and  the  infinitely  little  in  the 
tiny  animalcule;  but  thought  raises  its  head  as  it  recognises, 
from  the  lowest  to  the  highest,  law — that  is  order,  harmony, 
that  mind  one  spark  of  which  makes  man  feel  himself  greater 
than  the  whole  material  universe.  In  his  work  on  "  Theism," 
Professor  Flint  says  :  "  The  physical  universe  has,  perhaps,  no 
more  general  characteristic  than  this, — its  laws  are  mathemati- 
cal relations.  .  .  .  If  we  are  to  give  any  credit  to  science, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  weights  and  measures  and 
numbers.  This  question,  then,  is  alone  left.  Could  anything 
else  than  intelligence  thus  weigh,  measure,  and  number? 
Could  mere  matter  know  the  abstrusest  properties  of  space 
and  time  and  number,  so  as  to  obey  them  in  the  wondrous 
way  it  does?  Could  what  has  taken  so  much  mathematical 
knowledge  and  research  to  apprehend,  have  originated  with 
what  was  wholly  ignorant  of  all  quantitative  relations?  .  .  . 
The  belief  in  a  Divine  Creator  is  alone  capable  of  rendering 
rational  the  fact  that  mathematical  truths  are  realised  in  the 
material  world."1 

We  shall  see  presently  what  weight  is  to  be  attached  to  the 
objections  to  this  primary  conclusion,  which  is  derived  from 
the  simple  fact  of  the  universality  of  the  laws  which  govern 
the  sidereal  world  and  physico-chemical  phenomena.2 

1  "Theism,"  Robert  Flint,  pp.  136,  137. 

2  Wurtz's   learned    book   upon    the  Atomic    Theory  sufficiently  shows 
how  far  the  ultimate  particles  of  matter  are  governed  in  all  their  combina- 
tions by  invariable  laws.     The  theory  or  hypothesis  of  chemical  atoms,  of 
which   Dalton  was  the  originator,    and  which  Wurtz  has  developed  and 
confirmed  by  his  extensive  and  conclusive  researches,  represents  compound 
bodies  as  formed  by  the  grouping  of  atoms  in  fixed  number,  and  possessing 
weights  relatively  various,    but  fixed   in  each  case  (p.  21).     The  atomic 
weights  fixed  by  Dalton,  were  true  proportional  numbers  ;  they  represented 
the  proportions  according  to  which  bodies  combine,  and  which  are  expressed 
by  the  relative  weights  of  their  smaller  particles.      We  thus  obtain  a  true 
atomic  notation.     Atomicity  is  distinguished  from  affinity,  in  that  it  ex- 
presses the  saturating  capacity  of  atoms  as  a  property  inherent  in  their 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.        -  145 


II.    THE  FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  THE  VARIOUS  KINGDOMS  OF 
NATURE, 

Thought,  mind,  is  not  all  that  we  recognise  in  the  regularity 
and  universality  of  the  laws  of  Nature ;  we  also  trace  power. 

We  have  to  account  for  the  first  setting  in  motion,  if  we 
may  so  speak,  of  this  great  development  of  the  universe  which 
has  emerged  from  its  primitive  nebulous  state.  We  can  go  no 
further  back  to  obtain  an  explanation  of  the  world,  or  at  least 

nature,  while  "affinity  is  the  force  of  combination,  the  chemical  energy 
determining  the  intensity  and  the  direction  of  chemical  reactions."  The 
deductions  as  to  the  nature  of  matter  itself  which  M.  Wurtz  draws  from 
the  atomic  theory,  are  of  great  interest ;  "Atoms,"  he  says  "  are  not  material 
points;  they  possess  a  sensible  dimension,  and  doubtless  a  fixed  form  ;  they 
differ  in  their  relative  weights  and  in  the  motions  with  which  they  are 
animated.  They  are  indestructible  and  indivisible  by  physical  and  chemical 
forces,  for  which  they  act,  in  some  manner,  as  points  of  application.  The 
diversity  of  matter  results  from  primordial  differences,  perpetually  ex- 
isting in  the  very  essence  of  these  atoms,  and  in  the  qualities  which  are 
the  manifestation  of  them.  Atoms  attract  each  other,  and  thus  atomic 
attraction  is  affinity.  It  is  doubtless  a  form  of  universal  attraction,  but  it 
differs  from  it  in  that,  if  it  is  obedient  to  the  influence  of  mass,  it  depends 
also  on  the  quality  of  the  atoms.  Affinity  is  elective,  as  has  been  said  for 
a  hundred  years.  It  gives  rise  to  aggregations  of  atoms,  to  molecules  and 
chemical  combinations.  In  the  latter,  the  atoms  are  no  longer  free  in  their 
motions  ;  they  execute  their  motions  in  a  kind  of  co-ordinated  manner,  and 
constitute  a  system  in  which  everything  is  solid  and  in  which  they  are 
under  control"  (pp.  308,  309).  Wurtz  refers  to  Helmholtz's  experiments  and 
Thomson's  speculations  as  to  "the  vortex  motions  which  would  exist  in  a 
perfect  fluid  free  from  all  friction.  ...  A  fluid  fills  all  space,  and  what 
we  call  matterare  portions  of  this  fluid  which  are  animated  with  vortex  motion. 
There  are  innumerable  legions  of  very  small  fractions  or  portions,  but  each  of 
these  portions  is  perfectly  limited,  distinct  from  the  entire  mass,  and  distinct 
from  all  others,  not  only  in  its  own  substance,  but  in  its  mass  and  its  mode 
of  motion — qualities  which  it  will  preserve  for  ever.  These  portions  are 
atoms.  In  the  perfect  medium  which  contains  them  all,  none  of  them  can 
change  or  disappear,  none  of  them  can  be  formed  spontaneously.  Every- 
where atoms  of  the  same  kind  are  constituted  after  the  same  fashion  and  are 
endowed  with  the  same  properties"  (pp.  328,  329). 

L 


146  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

of  the  movement  of  things  which  has  produced  our  planetary 
system.  It  rtmains  for  us  to  discover  how  this  movement 
originated ;  how  the  nebulous  mass  came  to  undergo  its  first 
process  of  condensation,  and  thus  inaugurated  the  series  of 
motions  to  which  we  have  referred.  It  does  not  follow,  be- 
cause the  law  of  motion  is  in  accordance  with  the  theories 
of  Kepler  and  Newton,  that  its  action  is  spontaneous.  The 
primitive  nebula  appears  first  in  a  uniform  gaseous  state.  It 
cannot  receive  any  impetus  from  without,  for  to  it  there  is 
no  within  or  without.  The  fluid  fills  infinite  space.  The  law 
of  gravitation  cannot  come  into  play  while  matter  is  equally 
diffused  through  all  space.  Chemical  combinations  are  im- 
possible, for  the  gas  is  in  the  nebulous  state  of  extreme  dif- 
fusion. We  cannot  speak  of  a  lowering  of  the  temperature, 
for  then  we  should  need  to  know  whither  the  heat  escaped. 
The  naturalistic  explanation  can  go  no  further;  the  nebulous 
stage  is  its  extreme  point.  In  order  that  the  processus  of  the 
universe  may  begin,  we  must  have  a  force  which  comes  from 
above  itself,  or  which  is,  in  any  case,  outside  of  itself.  We 
find  ourselves  thus  brought  back  to  Aristotle's  prime  motor. l 


1  On  this  question  we  would  refer  the  reader  to  M.  Hirn  de  Colmar's 
interesting  works,  "La  Vie  Future  et  la  Science  Moderne,"  "Refutation 
Scientifique  de  Materialisme. "  Starting  with  an  analysis  of  the  phenomenon 
of  attraction,  the  learned  author  shows  that  it  cannot  be  explained  by  the 
mere  motion  of  molecules  of  matter  interposed  between  two  bodies  which 
attract  them,  and  that  we  are  compelled  to  admit  an  invisible  force  which 
cannot  be  resolved  into  atoms.  With  regard  to  the  origin  of  things 
M.  Hirn,  taking  his  stand  upon  the  principle  that  nothing  is  lost  in  the 
universe,  which  is  like  a  closed  vessel  in  which  every  force  subsists  in  its 
integrity  through  all  changes  of  phase,  concludes  that  our  world,  or  the 
system  of  the  world,  could  not  return  to  its  primitive  nebulosity  without  an 
inadmissible  loss  of  force  ;  and  consequently  it  is  of  necessity  that  this 
nebulosity,  or  state  of  matter  in  extreme  diffusion,  must  have  had  a  be- 
ginning, for  if  it  had  been  preceded  by  evolutions  similar  to  those  which 
produced  our  world,  there  would  have  been  a  loss  of  the  forces  brought  into 
play  by  such  an  evolution.  The  nebula  itself,  then,  must  be  traced  to  a 
creative  act  which  produced  it  with  the  principles  of  its  future  development 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.  147 

We  have  so  far  restricted  ourselves  to  the  domain  of  purely 
mechanical  existence.  But  it  is  not  enough  for  us  to  consider 
our  planet  simply  in  its  astronomical  aspect ;  we  must  also 
study  the  abundant  and  manifold  life  which  it  exhibits,  and 
draw  such  conclusions  as  it  may  logically  supply. 

We  shall  pass  rapidly  over  the  mineral  kingdom  because  it 
is  subject  to  the  same  laws  as  the  sidereal.  Here  also  we  find 
regularity,  fixity,  law.  The  atoms  which,  by  combining  in 
certain  modes,  produce  the  crystal"  with  its  regular  invariable 
forms,  are  not  moved  by  capricious  chance ;  they  reproduce  a 
pattern,  they  are  cast  into  an  ideal  mould.  We  find  in  their 
combination,  the  living  geometry  which  we  have  seen  at  work 
in  the  planetary  system.  Intelligence,  then,  which  is  not  a 
property  of  matter  and  cannot  be  identified  with  motion, 
governs  also  these  combinations  of  the  lower  world.  The 
crystal  is  no  more  the  product  of  chance  than  the  universe 
In  its  way  it  is  a  microcosm. 

While  the  inorganic  world  exhibits  a  plan,  it  is  not,  however, 
its  own  end ;  it  stands  in  relation  to  a  higher  world,  to  which 
it  furnishes  the  basis  of  existence,  and  for  whose  existence  it 
prepares  the  materials.  This  is  the  organic  world,  which  is 
in  its  turn  subordinate  to  a  sphere  higher  than  itself,  and  yet 
is  not  independent  of  it — the  world  of  mind,  of  thought,  the 
intellectual  and  moral  world.  We  shall  determine  presently 
the  specific  characters  of  these  higher  worlds,  so  distinct 
and  yet  so  closely  allied.  That  which  for  the  moment  we 
wish  to  show,  is  the  fact  of  their  intimate  relation  and  inter- 
dependence. And  first,  it  is  incontestable  that  these  three 
worlds,  or  three  spheres  of  being  on  our  planet,  cannot  be 


virtually  latent  in  it.  "The  substances  by  means  of  which  the  worlds  have 
been  formed,  were  created  by  an  Almighty  Being,  who  was  before  all  that 
existed."  To  such  a  Being,  existing  by  His  proper  nature,  time  cannot  be 
as  it  is  to  us — a  period  ;  it  can  only  be  a  mode.  We  do  not  know  why  the 
learned  author  has  complicated  the  discussion  by  a  dissertation  on  miracles 
which  takes  us  on  to  quite  other  ground. 


148  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

confounded.  Inorganic  can  never  be  placed  on  a  par  with 
organic  life.  "  Inorganic  bodies,  under  favourable  conditions, 
last  an  indefinite  length  of  time  without  receiving  anything 
from  or  imparting  anything  to  the  world*  around  them.  Or- 
ganised beings,  in  whatever  condition  they  are  placed,  last  only 
a  certain  period ;  and  during  this  time  of  existence  they  are 
constantly  undergoing  a  loss  of  substance  which  they  repair 
from  materials  outside  themselves.  As  M.  Naudin  has  well 
said,  a  crystal  is  like  one  of  those  regular  piles  of  shot  which 
we  see  in  our  arsenals.  It  increases  only  from  without,  as  the 
pile  grows  when  the  artilleryman  adds  a  new  layer  of  shot. 
It  is  precisely  the  opposite  with  organised  beings/'1  Above 
the  organised  world  is  the  higher  sphere  of  thought  and  will. 
This  distinction  of  the  three  worlds  does  not  ignore  their 
correlation.  The  organic  world  cannot  do  without  the  in- 
orgaeic.  "  Living  beings  have  weight,  and  are  thus  amenable 
to  gravitation ;  they  are  the  subjects  of  numerous  and  various 
physico-chemical  phenomena,  without  which  they  could  not 
exist.  Life  is  not  in  antagonism  with  the  brute  forces;  it 
controls  and  governs  their  operation  by  its  laws."  2  We  divide 
the  organic  world  into  vegetable  and  animal,  and  it  is  certain 
that  the  latter  cannot  perform  its  principal  functions  without 
the  aid  of  the  former.  Lastly,  no  one  in  our  day  will  dis- 
pute that  thought  cannot  go  on  without  the  brain,  that 
is  to  say,  without  the  organism  which  supplies  it  with  a 
delicate  instrument.  It  follows  from  these  general  considera- 
tions of  the  modes  and  degrees  of  existence  upon  our  planet, 
that  the  lower  serves  the  higher,  that  each  is  an  end  to  that 
which  precedes  it,  and  a  means  to  that  which  follows ;  con- 
sequently that  there  is  a  general  design  in  the  disposition  of 
the  world,  a  linking  together  of  all  forms  of  life  in  such  a  way 
as  to  direct  and  impel  all  in  a  common  direction. 


1  "L'Espece  Humaine,"  Quatrefages,  p.  2. 
*  Ibid.,  p   8. 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.  149 

The  purpose  which  is  thus  manifest  in  the  whole,  is  sus- 
tained in  detail  by  such  evidence  as  cannot  be  rejected  without 
disregarding  all  the  analogies  which  appeal  most  directly  and 
strongly  to  the  mind.  We  know  that  when  we  have  brought 
together  the  materials  for  building  a  house— wood,  stone, 
brick,  mortar — we  have  an  end  in  view ;  and  that  this  end  has 
been  present  in  our  minds  as  the  determining  cause  of  all  our 
efforts,  the  true  final  cause,  the  only  motive  which  can  explain 
this  assemblage  of  a  heap  of  materials  which  have  no  natural 
tendency  to  unite  or  combine.  Every  determination  of  the 
present  by  the  future  ha.s  this  character  of  purpose  or  design. 
We  understand  indeed  that  there  may  be  no  design  or  end 
in  the  production  of  a  phenomenon  which  is  the  natural  and 
simple  result  of  antecedent  causes.  The  production  of  the 
storm  by  the  disengagement  of  electricity  is  fully  explained  by 
the  previous  state  of  the  atmosphere.  But  it  is  otherwise 
when  phenomena  of  different  orders  are  combined  with  a  view 
to  producing  an  ulterior  effect  which  they  never  would  have 
produced  by  themselves,  any  more  than  the  wood,  stone,  and 
mortar  would  have  built  a  house  if  they  had  not  been  made 
use  of  in  a  certain  way  for  that  express  purpose.  Matter  is  all 
in  the  present ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  prevision  of  the 
future,  with  that  which  is  not  yet,  that  which  exists  only  as  an 
ideal  plan — the  opposite,  that  is  to  say,  of  that  which  is.  As 
soon  as  plan,  design,  prevision  of  the  future  appear,  we  enter 
the  region  of  purpose.1  This  look  into  the  future,  this  plan 
which  combines  phenomena  in  themselves  divergent  in  order 
to  obtain  a  future  result,  the  realisation  of  which  is  pursued  by 
appropriate  means,  we  certainly  find  in  nature.  M.  Janet  says, 
"When  a  combination  of  phenomena  can  be  explained  simply 
by  a  reference  to  antecedent  conditions,  there  is  nothing  more 
in  it  than  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect.  But  when  the 
combination,  in  order  to  become  intelligible,  must  be  referred 

1  See  M.  Janet's  full,  luminous,  and  conclusive  arguments  on  purpose  and 
design,  in  his  book,  "  Les  Causes  Finales,"  p»  42. 


150  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

not  only  to  its  antecedent  conditions  but  to  its  future  results, 
the  simple  relation  of  cause  and  effect  no  longer  suffices :  it  is 
transformed  into  the  relation  of  means  to  an  end."  l 

We  shall  content  ourselves  with  giving  in  conclusion  a  few 
examples  taken  from  organic  life,  in  which,  as  Kant  says,  every- 
thing is  reciprocally  an  end  and  a  means.  Organised  existence 
constitutes,  as  Cuvier  has  well  said,  in  relation  to  his  famous  law 
of  organic  correlation,  a  great  whole,  a  system  all  the  parts  of 
which  correspond  and  combine  by  reciprocal  reaction  in  one 
definitive  result.  This  is  what  Claude  Bernard  calls  the  ruling 
principle  of  organic  life,  that  which  alone  explains  its  for- 
mation and  constitution  on  a  definite  plan,  in  which  all  the 
elements  are  arranged  in  due  order  and  combined  so  as  to 
realise  a  preconceived  type.  "That  which  characterises  the 
living  machine,"  says  the  great  physiologist,  "  is  not  the  nature 
of  its  physico-chemical  properties,  however  complicated,  but 
the  creation  of  the  machine  itself  which  goes  on  before  our  eyes 
under  conditions  proper  to  it,  and  according  to  a  definite  idea 
which  expresses  the  nature  of  the  living  being  and  the  very 
essence  of  life.  That  which  is  peculiar  to  the  domain  of  life, 
which  does  not  belong  to  physics  or  chemistry,  or  any  other 
branch  of  natural  science,  is  this  ruling  principle  of  vital 
evolution.  In  every  living  germ  there  is  a  creative  idea  which 
develops  and  manifests  itself  in  the  organisation.  Through 
all  its  existence,  the  living  being  remains  under  the  influence 
of  this  same  vital  creative  force.  Here,  as  everywhere,  this 
is  the  originating  and  governing  principle  of  the  whole."  2 

This  purposive  adaptation,  which  is  the  reason  and  condi- 
tion of  the  existence  of  the  living  organism,  is  as  manifest  in 
its  generation  as  in  its  development  and  ultimate  constitution. 
Nothing  shows  more  clearly  the  combination  of  phenomena 
with  a  view  to  a  future  result  (which  is  the  strongest  evidence  of 

1  "  Les  Causes  Finales,"  Janet,  p.  42. 

3  "  Introduction  a  1'Etude  de  la  Medecine  Experimentale,"  Claude 
Bernard,  p.  163, 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.  151 

design),  than  the  difference  of  the  sexes.  This  difference  can- 
not be  absolutely  explained  by  any  necessity  of  organisation  for 
the  male  or  female,  considered  separately.  It  has  no  meaning 
except  in  view  of  the  future  act  which  is  to  unite  them  for  a 
brief  moment,  and  so  provide  for  the  preservation  of  the  species. 
Now  this  union  is  only  possible  if  there  is  a  perfect  conformity 
of  form  and  structure,  a  previous  adaptation.  The  physical 
constitution,  whether  of  the  male  or  the  female,  in  that  which 
is  peculiar  to  it,  is  of  no  consequence  to  their  present  state. 
Their  organic  adaptation  is  arranged  with  a  view  to  the  future. 
The  prevision  of  this  future  then  determined  it ;  the  object 
and  the  design  are  evident.  The  same  conclusion  presses 
itself  upon  us  if  we  contemplate  the  development  of  embryonic 
life;  the  organs  of  the  senses,  which  are  only  to  come  into  use 
in  the  future,  are  prepared  in  the  mother's  womb,  and  are 
adapted  by  anticipation  to  the  sphere  of  their  exercise.  The 
same  prevision  is  traceable  in  the  phenomena  of  lactation  in 
the  mammalia.  The  female,  before  she  is  a  mother,  possesses 
organs  peculiarly  adapted  for  the  process  of  suckling,  so  that 
the  milk  can  be  conveyed  to  the  breasts  as  soon  as  required. 
The  nutritive  organs  existed  before  the  birth  of  the  young, 
and  were  so  arranged  as  only  to  come  into  operation  after 
their  birth,  and  to  respond  to  the  instinct  which  finds  in  their 
organisation  the  means  of  satisfying  itself.  We  must  refer  the 
reader  to  the  works  of  specialists  for  a  description  of  the 
wonderful  adaptation  of  the  organs  of  the  various  senses  to 
the  purposes  for  which  they  are  required.  It  is  absurd  to 
speak  of  chance,  of  happy  coincidences,  in  reference,  for 
example,  to  such  an  organ  as  the  eye,  which  is  the  most 
perfect  and  delicate  optical  apparatus,  adapting  itself  to  every 
diversity  of  environment,  in  a  way  which  cannot  possibly  be 
explained  by  the  influence  of  the  environment  itself.  Thus,  in 
the  insects  and  crustaceans,  the  optic  mechanism,  by  virtue  of 
its  multiple  facets  and  refracting  cones,  gives  multiple  images ; 
it  isolates  the  visual  rays.  This  effect  is  produced  by  a  marvel- 


I  $2  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

Ions  arrangement  of  all  the  parts,  which  could  never  be  the 
result  of  the  fortuitous  concurrence  of  a  thousand  blind  causes. 
In  the  higher  animals  the  mechanism  is  integrating ;  the  visual 
rays  converge  to  form  a  single  image.  The  globe  of  the  eye, 
with  its  lens,  is  in  fact  a  camera  obscura. 

We  find  the  same  adaptation  in  the  other  organs  of  the 
senses,  with  the  same  modifications  for  varying  environment 
The  organ  of  hearing  differs  in  the  case  of  animals  which  live 
in  the  open  air  and  those  that  inhabit  the  sea  depths. 

This  is  a  rule  to  which  there  are  no  exceptions.  No  purely 
physical  or  mechanical  cause  will  account  for  so  perfect  an 
adaptation  of  the  structure  of  the  ear  to  its  various  uses.  The 
respiratory  organs  differ,  in  like  manner,  according  as  the 
animal  is  intended  to  live  in  air  or  water.  In  the  one  case 
we  find  the  apparatus  of  the  gills,  in  the  other,  organs  of  pul- 
monary respiration. 

The  structure  of  the  heart,  which  is  a  mechanism  at  once  so 
simple  in  principle  and  so  complex  in  the  arrangement  of  its 
different  parts,  so  wonderfully  contrived  and  admirably  adapted 
for  its  great  functions,  is  inconceivable  except  on  the  theory 
of  an  intelligent  design.  Apart  from  this,  we  should  need  to 
suppose  that  a  physical  cause,  acting  according  to  given  laws, 
hit  upon,  without  seeking  it,  the  system  best  of  all  adapted  for 
the  circulation  of  the  blood,  while  other  causes,  equally  blind, 
determined  the  production  of  the  blood  and  made  it  flow,  by 
virtue  of  other  laws,  in  the  most  appropriate  channels.1  The 
admirable  harmony  of  this  whole  system,  and  the  correlation 
of  its  parts,  completes  the  irrefragable  demonstration  of  design 
and  adaptation  in  the  living  organism. 

We  might  draw  the  same  conclusions  from  that  spontane- 
ous industry  which  we  call  instinct ;  but  we  reserve  all  that  re- 
lates to  this  subject  for  the  part  of  our  book  in  which  we  shall 
treat  of  man,  and  show  the  distinction  between  instinct  and 
intelligence. 

1  "  Les  Causes  Finales,"  Janet,  p.  74. 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.  153 

In  short,  the  living  organism  appears  to  us  the  very  embodi- 
ment of  the  great  idea  of  design ;  its  cause  is  in  its  end,  for 
everything  about  it  tends  to  that  end,  and  is  disposed  with  a 
view  to  its  realisation.  It  follows  that  its  raison  d'etre  is  this 
ruling  idea.  The  idea  is  first  formed,  and  everything  in  the 
living  being  is  prepared  and  adapted  for  its  realisation.  That 
is  to  say,  the  living  being  had  a  virtual  and  potential  before  its 
real  existence,  just  as  the  building  constructed  by  the  architect 
exists  first  in  his  plan,  in  view  of  which  he  gathers  together  the 
various  materials  that  will  be  required  and  combines  them  in 
such  a  way  that  they  assume  a  certain  form  which  they  would 
never  have  taken  if  left  to  themselves.  That  which  is  true  of 
the  house  is  true  of  every  organised  being.  It  is  a  building 
upon  a  plan,  according  to  a  predetermined  idea.  This  is  true 
of  the  oak,  which  existed  virtually  and  potentially  in  the  acorn- 
This  is  true  of  the  animal,  which  existed  virtually  and  potenti- 
ally in  its  antenatal  cell  This  is  true  of  the  vast  edifice  of  the 
world,  which  on  this  account  is  called  a  cosmos,  a  harmonious 
whole,  combining,  in  accordance  with  one  great  plan,  myriads 
of  different  elements  and  substances.  Everywhere  the  virtual 
precedes  the  actual  and  determines  it ;  this  is  its  only  expla- 
nation. It  follows  that  the  principle,  the  raison  d'etre,  of  the 
reality  cannot  be  grasped  by  sensation,  which  can  only 
apprehend  the  actual,  never  the  possible.  "  There  are,  says 
M.  Charles  Secre'tan,  in  nature  and  in  life,  real  things  which 
cannot  be  seen.  Nay  more,  these  invisible  realities  are  the 
most  essential  of  all.  We  do  not  see  the  end  which  a  man 
proposes  to  himself  in  his  conduct,  and  yet  all  his  conduct  is 
determined  by  some  end.  We  do  not  see  the  man  in  the  child, 
nor  the  tree  in  the  seed,  but  we  know  that  they  are  there,  and 
but  for  this  faculty  of  divination,  we  should  know  nothing 
either  of  the  seed  or  the  child.  The  notions  of  ideas,  of  an 
end,  of  power,  are  not  objectively  present  to  the  senses,  and 
yet  they  are  absolutely  indispensable  to  guide  us  in  the  chaos 
of  our  sensations  and  to  give  us  any  experimental  acquaintance 


154  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

with  things.  So  is  it  with  the  idea  of  cause  which  runs  through 
all  nature."  l 

Aristotle  has  set  the  seal  of  his  genius  on  this  theory  of 
potentiality,  and  draws  from  it,  with  rigorous  logic,  the  reason- 
able conclusion  that  this  ruling  and  formative  principle  of  the 
living  being,  this  potentiality,  which  develops  itself  in  his 
organism,  implies  mind,  thought,  as  its  origin  and  antecedent; 
and  this  thought  cannot  be  itself  also  a  mere  potentiality  (or 
the  difficulty  of  the  first  cause  would  still  remain),  but  "  has  a 
priority  of  subsistence  .  .  .  energy,  activity." 

"  Everything  that  is  being  produced,  advances  towards  a  first 
principle  and  an  end  ;  for  the  final  cause  is  a  first  principle, 
and  the  generation  or  production  is  on  account  of  the  end. 
But  energy  is  an  end,  and  on  account  of  this  is  potentiality 
assumed,  for  not  in  order  that  they  may  have  the  power  of 
vision  do  animals  see;  but  they  have  the  power  of  vision 
that  they  may  see.  .  .  .  Moreover  matter  subsists  in 
potentiality  because  it  may  advance  onwards  to  form  ;  but 
when,  at  least  it  subsists  in  energy,  then  doth  it  subsist  in  form. 
In  like  manner  also  is  it  the  case  with  other  things  and  those 
of  which  the  end  is  motion.  .  .  .  Wherefore  it  is  evident 
that  substance  and  form  are  each  of  them  a  certain  energy. 
And  therefore,  according  to  this  reasoning,  it  is  evident  that 
in  substance,  energy  is  prior  to  potentiality.  And,  as  we  have 
stated,  one  energy  invariably  is  antecedent  to  another  in  time, 
up  to  that  which  is  primarily  and  eternally  the  moving  cause. 
But  assuredly  also  in  a  more  strict  and  important  sense  is  energy 
prior  to  capacity,  for  the  things  that  are  eternal  are  in  sub- 
stance prior  to  the  things  that  are  perishable,  yet  nothing  sub- 
sisting in  potentiality  is  everlasting.  .  .  .  That  therefore 
energy  is  a  thing  prior  to  potentiality  and  every  alternative 
first  principle,  is  evident/' 2 

We   are   thus   brought    back    to   a   first   principle,    always 

1  "Discours  Laiques,"  Charles  Secrctan,  pp.  37,  38. 

2  "  Metaphysics,"  Aristotle,  Book  VIII.,  ch.  8.     Bobn's  translation. 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.  155 

operating,  always  actual  and  living,  from  which  proceed  the 
potentialities  or  germs  of  particular  beings. 

This  passage  from  the  virtual  to  the  actual,  is  the  law  of  all 
particular  beings,  who  thus  only  realise  the  end  in  view  of  which 
they  exist.  This  end  is  at  once  their  formal  and  final  cause, 
that  which  forms  and  completes  them.  This  end  was  con- 
tained in  the  initial  thought  from  which  all  proceeded,  but  that 
thought  itself  was  not  subject  to  this  law  which  makes  the 
particular  being  pass  from  the  virtual  to  the  actual,  else  all 
would  begin  and  end  in  potentiality.  There  would  be  no  basis, 
no  eternal  principle  of  being ;  universal  existence  would  rest  on 
a  mere  possibility,  which  would  not  find  in  itself  the  force,  the 
energy  to  arrive  at  being,  either  in  the  whole  or  in  the  parts. 
Hence  Aristotle  says  that  the  germs  point  us  back  to  a  higher 
and  already  complete  being.  The  primary  substance  is  not 
the  germ ;  it  is  the  complete  being  which  produces  the  germ. 
The  embryo,  which  potentially  contains  the  entire  man,  pre- 
supposes the  adult  man  who  has  produced  it ;  but  this  man 
himself  is  only  a  secondary  cause.  We  must  go  back  to  the 
first  cause,  perfect  and  eternal,  which  has  imparted  to  every 
germ,  to  every  potential  existence,  its  own  thought,  and  the 
vital  energy  capable  of  developing  it  according  to  its  proper 
plan.  In  order  to  conceive  and  realise  this  plan,  it  was  neces- 
sary that  this  first  cause  should  be  living  and  actual.  We  find 
a  design,  a  thought  m  a  preparatory  state,  in  every  being. 
But  this  design  requires  as  its  formal  and  final  cause,  a  perfect, 
complete,  living,  thought,  in  a  word — God.  This  is  the  sub- 
stance of  Aristotle's  theory,  and  in  the  lapse  of  so  many  cen- 
turies it  has  not  grown  antiquated. 

The  God  of  Aristotle  is  a  pure  intelligence,  contemplating 
Himself,  moving  the  world  by  the  attraction  of  His  own  excel- 
lence. This  idealism,  sublime  in  so  many  aspects,  which  fills 
the  twelfth  book  of  the  "  Metaphysics,"  had  as  its  counterpart 
the  eternity  of  matter.  It  does  not  give  us  an  exhaustive 
idea  of  the  great  First  Cause,  whose  wisdom  appears  in  the 


156  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

marks  of  design  everywhere  discernible  in  the  individual  forms 
of  life  and  in  the  harmony  of  a  world  governed  throughout  by 
the  principle  of  finality.  This  First  Cause  is  not  only  intelli- 
gent, it  is  powerful.  It  has  not  only  conceived  its  plan,  it  has 
realised  it ;  and  its  creative  intervention  is  as  evident  to  us  as 
its  wisdom.  In  fact,  the  different  degrees  of  existence  which 
we  recognise  in  the  world  are  not  only  perfectly  distinct  while 
forming  harmonious  parts  of  one  system,  but  they  are  so 
distinct  that  there  is  no  transition  from  one  to  another.  Life 
has  never  been  known  to  rise  from  the  mineral  to  the  vegetable 
kingdom ;  no  combination  of  chemical  and  physical  forces  has 
produced  any  such  result.  Skilful  chemists  have  been  able 
to  build  up  certain  substances  which  enter  into  the  composition 
of  living  things,  but  the  actual  composition  of  life,  that  which 
gives  it  its  peculiar  character,  has  never  been  elaborated  in  any 
of  their  retorts.  Nor  has  it  been  produced  in  the  vast  alembics 
of  nature.  Science  is  further  than  ever  from  confirming  the 
hypothesis  of  spontaneous  generation,  even  though  that  hypo- 
thesis is  demanded  by  the  whole  of  the  Transformist  School. 
Nothing  has  been  able  to  controvert  M.  Pasteur's  conclusive 
experiments,  which  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  a  germ  even  in 
the  cases  which  seemed  most  favourable  to  the  supposition 
of  spontaneous  generation.  We  have  on  this  point  testimony 
which  cannot  be  called  in  question.  "Generation,  which  is 
the  order  of  creation  of  organic  beings,"  says  M.  Claude 
Bernard,  "is  justly  regarded  as  the  most  mysterious  function 
of  physiology.  It  has  been  observed  in  all  ages  that  there 
is  a  filiation  between  living  beings,  and  for  the  most  part  they 
are  clearly  produced  by  pairing.  There  are  cases,  however,  in 
which  this  filiation  is  not  apparent,  and  these  were  supposed 
to  be  cases  of  spontaneous  generation,  that  is  to  say  without 
parentage.  This  very  old  question  has  been  taken  up  again 
recently  and  made  the  subject  of  fresh  inquiry.  In  France 
spontaneous  generation  has  been  rejected  by  various  special- 
ists, but  particularly  by  M.  Pasteur.  It  has,  on  the  other  hand, 


FORMATIVE  POWER  IN  NATURE.  157 

been  accepted  by  some  naturalists,  and  specially  by  M.  Pouchet, 
who  maintains  the  hypothesis  of  spontaneous  ovulation.  M. 
Pouchet  has  tried  to  show  that  there  is  no  spontaneous  genera- 
tion of  the  adult  being,  but  generation  of  its  egg  or  of  its  germ. 
This  view  appears  to  me  wholly  inadmissible,  even  as  hypo- 
thesis. I  consider  that  the  egg  represents  a  sort  of  organic 
form  which  contains  in  itself  the  conditions  necessary  to  the 
evolution  of  an  organic  being,  from  the  very  fact  that  it  pro- 
ceeds from  one.  The  egg  is  not  an  egg  because  it  possesses 
a  virtual  power  communicated  to  it  by  one  or  more  previous 
evolutions  of  which  it  retains  some  sort  of  memory.  It  is  this 
initial  direction  which  is  properly  speaking  only  the  manifesta- 
tion of  a  more  or  less  marked  atavism  which  can  never  in  my 
opinion  be  the  result  of  spontaneous  forces  acting  ab  initio. 
It  implies  of  necessity  an  hereditary  influence.  I  fail  to  con- 
ceive that  a  cell  formed  spontaneously  and  without  parents 
could  have  any  evolution,  since  it  has  had  no  anterior  state. 
Whatever  may  be  the  hypothesis,  the  experiments  which  were 
regarded  as  proving  spontaneous  generation,  were  for  the  most 
part  defective.  M.  Pasteur  has  had  the  merit  of  throwing  light 
on  the  problem  of  spontaneous  generation,  by  showing  how 
inadequate  these  experiments  were,  and  by  introducing  greater 
precision  into  the  subject.  He  has  shown  that  the  air  is  the 
vehicle  of  a  multitude  of  germs  of  living  beings."1 

If  the  appearance  of  life  is  an  entirely  new  and  irreducible 
fact,  which  there  is  no  natural  antecedent  to  explain,  the 
appearance  of  consciousness,  of  thought,  of  the  moral  life,  the 
fuller  study  of  which  we  reserve  to  a  later  part  of  this  work, 
is  no  less  inexplicable,  and  implies  a  fresh  intervention  of  the 
highest  cause.  We  gather  then  from  this  rapid  glance  at 
the  visible  world,  that  everything  in  it  implies  a  cause 
at  once  intelligent  and  powerful.  In  a  word,  it  is  true,  as 
Bossuet  has  said,  "that  everything  which  shows  order,  pro- 
portions well  adapted,  and  means  fitted  to  produce  certain 
1  "  Rapport  de  M.  Claude  Bernard  a  1' Academic  de  Medecine." 


1 58  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

effects,  shows  also  an  express  end,  and  consequently  a  design 
formed,  a  governing  intelligence  and  perfect  art."  l  The  uni- 
verse bears  emphatic  witness  to  this  "governing  intelligence, 
this  perfect  art,"  alike  in  the  infinitely  great  and  the  infinitely 
little,  in  the  atom  and  in  the  planet.  All  obey  the  same 
mathematical,  physical,  or  chemical  laws ;  the  science  of 
numbers, — the  very  opposite  of  chance, — rules  and  regulates 
their  movements  and  their  affinities.  When  the  living  organ- 
ism appears,  it  reveals  to  us  a  yet  higher  art,  marvellously 
skilful  in  combining  the  most  various  phenomena,  in  view  of  a 
foreseen  result  This  plan,  this  design,  which  is  apparent  if 
we  carefully  examine  a  cell  or  the  smallest  organic  body, 
is  expressed  with  equal  clearness  and  sublimity  in  the  final 
harmonies  of  all  the  parts  of  this  great  whole  which  we  call  the 
world,  by  which  we  mean  order  realised.  This  harmony  not 
only  satisfies  our  reason,  it  fills  us  with  admiration,  which  is 
one  of  our  purest  joys  because  the  most  disinterested.  Beauty 
manifests  itself  to  us  as  a  higher  end.  The  sense  of  beauty 
arises  from  a  mysterious  correspondence  between  that  ideal 
type  of  the  beautiful  which  we  have  within  us,  and  the  spectacle 
of  things  in  which  we  find  our  ideas  of  harmony  or  grandeur, 
grace  or  majesty,  realised.  There  is  something  more  in  beauty 
than  the  simple  grouping  of  atoms;  their  aesthetic  disposition 
is  not  a  mere  movement,  it  is  a  thought.  The  impression  of 
beauty  produced  upon  us  by  this  world,  so  full  of  variety,  so 
rich  in  contrasts,  implies  as  much  art  as  a  symphony  of  Beet- 
hoven, which  resolves  the  discord  of  sounds  into  a  magnificent 
harmony  conveying  to  the  receptive  soul  the  sublime  thought 
of  the  master.  Thus,  when  the  inspired  singer  of  Israel  ex- 
claims that  the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  or  when  the 
great  apostle  Paul  declares  that  the  glory  of  the  invisible  God 
is  clearly  seen  in  the  things  which  are  made ;  we  feel  that  they 
are  right.  They  only  express  in  the  language  of  poetic  rapture 
that  fundamental  principle  of  oui  reason — the  principle  of 
1  "De  la  Connaissance  de  Dieu  et  de  Soi-meme,"  Bossuer,  Book  I. 


FORMA  TIVE  PO  WER  IN  NA  TURE.  1 59 

causation,  which  will  not  allow  that  the  greater  can  come  from 
the  less,  but  which  demands  an  exact  proportion  between  the 
cause  and  its  effects.  If  they  are  wrong,  reason  itself  is  wrong. 

We  cannot  better  conclude  these  considerations  than  by 
quoting  the  words  in  which  Aristotle  closes  his  review  of  the 
ancient  philosophies : — 

"  But  after  these  philosophers,  and  after  the  assertion  of' 
principles  of  this  sort, —  as  if  on  the  grounds  of  their  in- 
sufficiency to  generate  the  nature  of  entities — again  constrained 
by  actual  truth,  as  we  have  said,  they  investigated  the  principle 
next  following,  in  the  way  of  a  consequence.  For  of  the 
excellent  and  beautiful  order  of  some  things,  and  of  the  pro- 
duction of  others  of  the  entities,  it  is  not  natural  to  assign, 
perhaps,  either  earth  or  anything  of  this  kind  as  a  cause ;  nor 
is  it  natural  that  they  should  think  that  it  is;  nor  was  it 
seemly,  on  the  other  hand,  to  attribute  so  important  a  part 
to  chance  and  fortune. 

"  Now,  whosoever  affirmed  mind,  as  in  animals  so  also  in 
nature,  to  be  the  cause  of  the  system  of  the  world,  and  of  the 
entire  harmony  of  it ;  the  same  appeared,  as  it  were,  of  sober 
temperament,  in  comparison  with  the  vain  theorists  of  the  earlier 
ages.  Indeed,  then,  we  know  that  Anaxagoras  openly  adopted 
these  principles.  Hermotimus  of  Clazomenae,  however,  has 
the  credit  assigned  him  of  having  put  forward  a  similar  theory 
of  causation  at  an  earlier  period. 

"Those  indeed,  therefore,  who  have  entertained  these 
opinions,  have  laid  down  as  a  first  principle  of  entities  at  the 
same  time,  the  cause  of  their  orderly  arrangement,  with  such  a 
one  as  that  of  the  origin  of  motion  in  things."1 

1  "Metaphysics,"  Aristotle,  Book  I.,  c.  iii.     Bohn's  translation. 


CHAPTER    II. 
OLDER   OBJECTIONS  TO   THE    THEORY  OF   CAUSATION. 

IN  speaking  of  the  principles  of  casuation,  we  have  so  far  con- 
tented ourselves  with  formulating  the  conclusion  as  to  the  origin 
of  the  world  to  which  our  minds  were  led  by  the  spectacle  and 
the  history  of  the  world ;  and  this  conclusion  is  theism.  We 
know  well  how  strongly  this  is  attacked  in  our  day  by  the 
arguments  of  modern  science.  It  is  constantly  declared  to  be 
opposed  to  the  most  positive  results  of  scientific  inquiry.  It 
is  evident  that  if  this  is  really  so,  theism  must  be  abandoned ; 
for  any  explanation  which  is  contrary  to  proved  facts,  is  of 
necessity  false. 

It  remains  for  us  to  show  that  this  contradiction  between 
theism  and  science  has  no  real  existence,  if  only  science  keeps 
within  its  own  domain,  and  is  content  to  affirm  that  which  it  is 
competent  to  demonstrate  by  experiment.  We  set  aside  then 
from  the  discussion  all  that  is  theory  and  hypothesis  alone. 

I.  ATOMISM. 

The  simplest  and  most  widespread  form  of  materialism  is 
still  the  atomism  of  Democritus  and  Epicurus.  This  is  the 
subject  of  Biichner's  book  on  Force  and  Matter,  and  he  dwells 
largely  on  the  philosophy  of  Lefevre.  From  the  admirable 
exposition  given  by  Lange,  of  the  system  of  Democritus,1  it  is 
clear  to  how  great  an  extent  the  philosopher  of  Abdera  is  the 
initiator  of  materialism  in  its  most  popular  form.  Everything 

1  "  History  of  Materialism."     Lange. 
160 


OLDER   OBJECTIONS.  161 

is  traced  back  to  atoms  and  vacuous  space ;  the  atoms  combine 
indefinitely  according  to  properties  inherent  in  them,  which 
Biichner  calls  forces.  These  combinations,  governed  by  me- 
chanical and  physico-chemical  laws,  produce  all  the  variety  of 
worlds  and  beings,  without  any  directing  thought  revealing  a 
design  and  pursuing  an  end.  Because  there  are  laws,  it  is 
concluded  that  there  is  no  lawgiver,  and  that  all  effects  are  to 
be  traced  to  the  energy  inherent  in  matter.  The  harmony  of 
things  is  the  natural  and  necessary  result  of  this  energy,  and  is 
produced  without  any  intervention,  merely  by  the  motion  of 
atoms  obeying  the  laws  of  their  nature. 

To  this  theory  we  have  one  objection  to  make  at  the  outset. 
What  is  the  origin  of  that  notion  of  the  harmony  of  things 
which  is  recognised  at  least  as  their  result  ?  It  comes  from 
that  particular  grouping  of  atoms  in  the  brain  which  produces 
the  human  mind.  Here,  there  is  not  simply  the  vortex  of 
molecules  obeying  its  internal  laws ;  there  is  the  conception  of 
those  laws,  the  recognition  of  order  in  the  universe.  This  is 
an  entirely  new  phenomenon,  without  any  analogy  with  that 
which  precedes  it.  In  this  case,  the  atoms  are  not  content 
with  merely  moving  in  accordance  with  their  proper  laws;  by  a 
new  combination,  they  are  conscious  of  their  motion  and  of 
the  laws  which  govern  it.  The  mere  fact  of  attempting  an 
explanation  of  the  world,  even  on  the  most  absolutely  material- 
istic basis,  makes  the  being  who  attempts  it  pass  the  limits 
of  the  atomism,  which  he  has  declared  to  be  absolute  and 
universal.  Democritus  refutes  his  own  theory  by  the  very  fact 
that  he  accounts  for  the  existence  of  the  world.  Atomism 
recognised  and  explained,  ceases  to  be  atomism. 

Further,  to  speak  of  harmony  and  order,  is  to  apply  to 
matter  an  idea  not  derived  from  sensation,  for  it  implies  the 
recognition  of  a  certain  relation  between  facts  succeeding  each 
other.  Sensation  perceives  these  facts  one  after  the  other; 
but  something  more  than  sensation  is  needed  to  connect  them, 
and  to  form  a  conception  of  the  whole,  the  parts  of  which 

M 


1 62  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

only  are  apprehended  by  the  senses.  This  category  of  neces- 
sary order  appertains  to  the  reason.  Lastly,  it  is  idle  to  deny 
that  there  is  design  in  the  production  and  disposition  of  the 
things  composing  the  universe.  By  whatever  ingenious  explan- 
ations we  try  to  get  rid  of  design,  we  are  obliged  to  recognise 
it  as  a  fact  in  the  animal  creation,  which  does  not  obey  mere 
mechanical  forces,  and  still  more  clearly  in  man  who  always 
adapts  means  to  an  end.  It  is  from  his  own  experience  that 
he  has  derived  this  idea  of  design,  of  an  end  in  view ;  and  he 
attributes  this  characteristic,  by  a  most  natural  and  reasonable 
analogy,  to  the  First  Cause  which  he  sees  at  work  in  the 
universe. 

If  we  now  return  to  the  idea  of  law  itself, — the  physical  law 
inherent  in  atoms, — we  must  admit  that  it  is  at  least  strange 
to  use  this  as  an  argument  against  an  intelligent  First  Cause. 
Biichner  altogether  confounds  the  idea  of  force  with  that 
of  law.  Matter  he  regards  as  inseparable  from  force ;  which 
amounts  to  saying  that  it  has  set  itself  in  motion  without  a 
prime  motor.  This  proposition  appears  to  us  the  very  reverse 
of  obvious,  for  reasons  already  advanced.  We  have  seen 
that  it  is  impossible  to  explain  how  motion  could  have 
been  at  first  spontaneously  produced  in  the  primitive  nebula, 
which  from  its  state  of  extreme  diffusion  escapes  the  action  of 
gravitation.  This  primary  force  being  wanting,  all  the  others 
are  wanting  also.  But  supposing  we  admit  that  force  may 
be  inherent  in  matter, — that  is,  in  the  atom, — what  right  have 
we  to  take  it  for  granted  that  it  is  a  regulated  or  self-regulating 
force  ?  By  what  right  do  we  attribute  to  it  the  regularity  and 
simplicity  of  a  law  ?  Each  atom  is  to  contain  in  itself  the 
whole  marvellous  mechanical  and  physico-chemical  legislation 
which  governs  the  material  world.  The  idea  of  matter  implies 
nothing  of  this  sort;  it  is  either  inert  or  diffused.  Every- 
thing in  the  laws  which  govern  it,  bears  the  impress  of  in- 
telligence ;  even  their  admirable  simplicity,  which  is  itself  a 
law,  and  the  law  of  economy,  by  which  nature  always  contents 


OLDER   OBJECTIONS.  163 

itself  with  that  which  is  strictly  necessary  for  producing  its 
results.  Nor  have  we  to  deal  with  mere  abstractions.  A 
natural  law  is  not  a  mysterious  entity,  a  sort  of  anonymous 
divinity.  Law  is  in  itself  nothing  else  than  the  formula  of  the 
conditions  of  existence  which  we  verify  experimentally  in 
nature.  If  these  conditions  are  found  to  be  permanent,  they 
would  imply  a  foregoing  action  by  which  they  have  been  de- 
termined in  such  a  way  as  to  secure  their  continuance.  Has 
it  ever  been  found  that  an  atom  had  this  power  of  determining, 
not  itself  alone,  but  also  all  the  other  atoms  with  which  it  is 
related  ?  For  this  determination  of  the  conditions  of  existence, 
which  we  call  law,  can  never  be  an  isolated  fact ;  it  implies 
reciprocity,  and  consequently  combination,  prevision— that  is 
to  say,  intelligence.  Professor  Flint  says,  "  The  existence  of 
a  law  connecting  and  governing  a  class  of  phenomena,  implies 
an  intelligence  by  which  the  law  is  made.  Laws,  then,  are  not 
the  cause  of  order,  but  its  expression.  They  are  the  result  of 
delicate  adjustments.  Chemical  laws  only  exist  because  there 
are  chemical  elements  endued  with  various  affinities  and  forces, 
which  balance  each  other  and  harmonise  so  as  to  produce  the 
world.  Laws  produce  nothing  of  themselves ;  it  is  the  agents, 
acting  according  to  the  laws,  which  produce  the  effects.  If  these 
were  not  well  balanced,  disorder  would  be  the  result.  The 
harmony  of  the  world  would  never  be  produced  by  the  law  of 
gravitation  alone. 

We  have  not  merely  to  do  with  atoms  endowed  with  pro- 
perties in  virtue  of  which  they  act  and  react  on  each  other ; 
we  have  to  account  for  a  cosmos  ordered  and  disposed.  The 
atoms  might  act  and  interact  for  ever  under  the  control  of  laws 
gravitational  and  physico-chemical ;  but  if  left  to  themselves 
they  could  never  succeed  in  building  up  an  ordered  and  or- 
ganised universe.  This  conclusion  is  forced  on  us  when  we 
consider  the  vast  variety  of  combinations  and  complexities 
which  a  universe  involves.  Even  the  famous  apologue  of  the 
Iliad  resulting  from  the  fortuitous  collocation  of  the  letters 


1 64  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

of  the  alphabet,  does  not  represent  to  the  full  the  absurdity 
of  imagining  a  universe  produced  by  the  fortuitous  concourse 
of  atoms.  We  require  a  multitude  of  chances  infinitely  less 
probable  even  than  this.  It  avails  us  nothing  to  fall  back  on 
the  primordial  nebula.  Its  evolution  is  equally  unthinkable 
if  no  directing  mind  presided  over  its  formation,  over  the 
analysis  and  synthesis  of  its  elements,  over  its  final  equilibrium 
and  order.  The  solar  system  could  only  have  been  evolved 
out  of  its  nebulous  state  if  the  nebula  possessed  a  certain  size, 
mass,  form,  and  constitution ;  if  it  was  neither  too  rare  nor  too 
dense,  neither  too  fluid  nor  too  tenacious,  if  its  atoms  were  all 
disposed  in  due  relation  to  each  other, — that  is  to  say,  only 
if  the  nebula  was  in  reality  as  much  a  system  of  order  as  the 
worlds  which  have  been  developed  from  it.1 

"  The  world  subsists,"  says  Janet,  "  by  virtue  of  a  mathe- 
matical law  ;  but  a  mathematical  law  is  absolutely  indifferent 
to  any  result  whatever.  What  does  it  matter  to  universal  attrac- 
tion, whether  the  world  exists  or  not  ?  Now  it  happens  that 
this  force,  by  which  the  solar  system  is  produced,  has  in  itself 
the  elements  of  its  overthrow.  It  happens  that  particles  of 
matter,  which  can  have  no  preference  for  one  order  or  another, 
and  which  obey  a  law  deaf  and  dumb  as  themselves,  have 
found  their  equilibrium,  and  have  assumed  a  form  of  stability 
which  seems,  as  Arago  says,  the  effect  of  a  miracle.  To 
suppose  that  such  stability,  such  order,  is  the  result  of  an 
accident  which,  at  a  given  moment,  has  evolved  order  out  of 
chaos  and  found  the  point  of  equilibrium  between  so  many 
and  such  divergent  forces,  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
doctrine  of  pure  chance."2  Looking  at  the  laws  of  motion 
alone,  there  is  no  reason  why  the  minute  (or  elementary)  bodies 
should  continue  to  group  themselves  in  the  same  order,  rather 
than  in  new  combinations,  or  even  why  they  should  continue 
to  group  themselves  at  all. 

1  See  "Theism,"  Robert  Flint,  pp.  187-192. 
*  "  Causes  Finales,"  Janet,  p.  238. 


OLDER   OBJECTIONS.  165 


II.  ORGANICISM. 

The  opponents  of  final  causes,  after  having  essayed  to  ex- 
clude them  from  the  inorganic  world,  make  the  same  attempt 
with  regard  to  the  organic  world,  in  which  they  refuse  indeed 
to  recognise  any  specific  character.  They  adopt  the  same 
line  of  argument  in  reference  to  both.  They  hold  that  there 
is  no  design  in  the  inorganic  world  because  it  is  subject  to 
inflexible  laws,  as  if  law  itself  were  not  the  expression  of  a 
directing  mind.  From  the  fact  that  the  living  creature  has 
properties  necessary  to  the  fulfilment  of  its  functions,  they 
conclude  that  all  is  explained  by  these  properties,  which  pro- 
duce the  organs  and  their  functions,  and  that  we  have  no  right 
to  look  higher  and  to  seek  for  a  plan,  a  design,  behind  this 
determination  of  the  natural  life.  The  simple  elements  of 
which  living  creatures  are  composed  do  indeed  possess  certain 
properties  or  fixed  modes  of  action.  These  elements,  with 
their  inherent  properties,  are  developed  from  the  cell  by 
slow  and  progressive  evolution.  Thus  are  formed  the  organs 
whose  functions  are  the  simple  manifestation  of  these  pro- 
perties. For  example,  the  action  of  the  heart,  which  is  a 
muscle,  arises  from  the  contractile  property  common  to  all 
muscles.  The  circulation  of  the  blood  is  caused  by  the  nutri- 
tive and  reparative  qualities  of  the  blood  itself.  The  eye  is 
not  disposed  with  a  view  to  seeing,  but  it  sees  because  sight  is 
the  result  of  the  particular  disposition  of  its  parts  with  the 
qualities  proper  to  them. 

To  this  theory,  known  as  organicism,  the  following  objec- 
tions may  be  raised.  First :  The  simple  elements  of  which 
the  living  organism  is  composed  are  cells.  Now  we  have 
already  shown  that  the  appearance  of  the  cell,  radically  dif- 
ferent as  it  is  from  inorganic  matter,  which  is  incapable  either 
of  growth  or  decay,  cannot  be  explained  on  the  theory  of 
mere  development  None  of  the  chemical  syntheses  even  of 


1 66  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

M.  Berthelot  suffice  to  account  for  it.1  We  admit  that  he  has 
succeeded  in  creating  in  his  laboratory  most  of  the  proximate 
principles  which  matter  contains,  but  these  proximate  princi- 
ples are  pure  chemical  products,  and  possess  none  of  the 
characters  of  life.  They  are  the  results  of  analysis,  oxidation, 
decomposition,  recomposition  to  organic  matter,  but  not  or- 
ganised matter  itself.  A  proximate  principle  is  not  an  organ, 
nor  the  rudiment  of  an  organ,  nor  a  being,  nor  an  element  of 
a  being  ;  it  possesses  no  living  form.  "  No  chemist,"  says  M. 
Berthelot,  "  can  pretend  to  form  in  his  laboratory  a  leaf,  fruit, 
muscle,  or  organ."  Organicism  cannot  then  cross  the  impass- 
able barrier  of  life.  This  is  conclusive  against  its  principle,  for 
if  it  cannot  explain  the  production  of  the  living  creature,  it  will 
be  equally  incapable  of  explaining  its  organisation. 

Second. — The  fact  that  the  simple  elements  of  organised 
bodies  have  certain  properties,  argues  nothing  against  an  in- 
telligent cause.  We  utterly  fail  to  comprehend  why  the 
demonstration  of  a  law  in  things,  should  involve  the  negation 
of  an  originating  and  directing  mind. 

Third. — We  deny  that  these  properties  alone  suffice  to 
explain  the  disposition  of  the  organs.  It  is  very  convenient, 
for  the  sake  of  the  argument,  to  reduce  the  admirable  me- 
chanism of  the  heart  to  the  mere  contractility  of  a  muscle; 
but  it  is  perfectly  well  known  that  there  is  no  machine  invented 
by  science  so  ingenious  and  complicated.  "  Muscular  con- 
tractility explains  the  contraction  of  the  heart ;  but  this  general 
property,  common  to  all  the  muscles,  does  not  suffice  to  explain 
how  and  why  the  heart  contracts  in  one  particular  way  rather 
than  in  any  other,  or  why  it  has  assumed  a  certain  configura- 
tion. The  heart,  as  Claude  Bernard  has  said,  is  essentially  a 
living,  moving  machine,  a  force-pump  designed  to  supply  all 
the  organs  with  a  fluid  which  nourishes  them.  It  is  this  com- 
plexity and  this  art  in  the  configuration  of  the  organ  which 
is  not  explained  by  the  modes  of  action  or  by  the  properties 
1  "LaSynthese  Chimique."  Berthelot. 


OLDER   OBJECTIONS.  167 

of  the  simple  elements,  in  the  case  of  the  heart,  or  of  the 
digestive  organs,  or  of  the  eye.  To  combine  is  to  foresee,  to 
reason,  to  think. l 

Fourth. — In  the  living  organism  we  have  not  only  to  con- 
sider each  organ  by  itself,  though  this  would  suffice  to  prove 
the  presence  of  combinations  more  wonderful  than  the  most 
skilful  mechanical  contrivances  of  man's  invention ;  but  these 
various  organs  are  all  connected  with  each  other  and  all  tend 
to  a  common  end  to  which  each  is  subordinate,  as  the  parts  of 
a  well-compacted  whole.  The  higher  we  rise  in  the  scale 
of  life,  the  more  manifest  does  it  become  that  there  is  one 
great  purpose  which  all  the  inferior  parts  of  the  organism  help 
to  subserve.  "  Thus,"  as  M.  Chauffard  has  said,  "  the  ulti- 
mate purpose  of  being,  that  which  is  connected  with  the 
faculties  of  sensibility  and  of  motion,  reacts  upon  vegetable 
life,  and  orders  and  sustains  that  life  in  ways  which  assure  the 
final  result."  2  We  ask  whether  the  properties  of  the  simple 
elements  of  the  living  organism  are  capable  of  producing  such 
a  harmony  and  hierarchy  of  functions  ?  or  whether,  in  order  to 
such  a  manifestation,  there  must  not  be  the  mysterious,  latent, 
but  real,  operation  of  that  directing  thought  which  is  essentially 
the  quid  proprium  of  life,  and  by  virtue  of  which  we  are  raised 
far  above  the  purely  mechanical  ? 

Fifth. — The  life  of  the  embryo  alone  suffices  to  prove  that 
this  adaptation  to  an  end  is  not  the  mere  result,  the  simple 
bringing  into  play  of  the  properties  of  organised  matter,  for  the 
presiding  idea  governs  all  the  transformations  of  the  germ.  At 
the  outset,  all  germs  resemble  each  other,  and  yet  each  as- 
sumes a  different  development,  which  is  carded  on  with  perfect 
regularity.  Neither  physics  nor  chemistry  explains  their  dif- 
ferences of  development;  we  must  refer  them  to  the  determining 
idea  which  is  of  the  essence  of  the  germ,  and  which  is  nothing 

1  "  De  la  Finalite,"  Janet,  pp.  168,  169. 

2  "  La  Vie,  Etudes  des  Problemes  de  Physiologic  Generate,"  Chauffard, 
pp.  236  et  sqq. 


168  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

dse  than  the  being  in  posse.  "  When  a  chicken,"  says  Claude 
Bernard,  "  is  developed  in  an  egg,  it  is  not  so  much  the  forma- 
tion of  the  animal  body,  as  the  grouping  of  chemical  elements 
which  essentially  characterises  the  vital  function.  This  grouping 
takes  place  only  in  accordance  with  the  laws  which  determine 
the  physico-chemical  properties  of  matter.  But  that  which  is 
essentially  of  the  domain  of  life,  and  which  does  not  belong 
either  to  chemistry  or  physics,  is  the  determining  idea  of  this 
evolution.  In  every  living  germ  there  is  a  determining  idea, 
which  develops  itself  and  becomes  manifest  in  the  organisation. 
The  specific  and  final  idea  precedes  and  moulds  the  living 
organism.  If  from  the  organism  we  pass  to  its  various  func- 
tions, it  may  be  said  that  the  functional  idea  precedes  the 
organ,  and  that  the  function  forms  the  organ.  All  the  functions 
which  are  to  co-operate  in  the  life  of  the  being,  are,  so  to 
speak,  presaged  and  indicated  before  the  function  actually 
comes  into  play.  The  future  circulation  is  indicated  before 
the  organs  by  which  it  is  to  be  carried  on  are  developed,  by 
the  appearance  of  the  blood  corpuscles.  In  the  same  way  the 
nervous  system  is  first  to  be  traced  in  scattered  rudiments. 
Why  the  lungs  in  the  foetus,  when  it  cannot  breathe?  why 
the  eyes,  the  ears,  when  there  is  no  sight  or  hearing?  The 
answer  is,  that  all  is  being  prepared  and  organised  for  these 
functions,  which  are  to  come  into  play  at  a  given  moment.  The 
predetermined  idea  creates  little  by  little  the  instrument  which 
will  enable  it  to  perform  its  work."  l  It  is  not  possible  then  to 
maintain  that  the  organ  creates  the  function,  since  the  function 
is  indicated  before  the  organ  is  formed. 

We  do  not  indeed  deny  that  the  function  requires  outwardly 
favourable  conditions  to  bring  it  into  play.  If  these  conditions 
are  disturbed  or  are  defective,  the  function  itself  is  disturbed, 
and  we  witness  monstrous  deviations  from  the  normal  plan. 
But  these  in  no  way  disprove  the  determining  idea ;  they  only 

1  "  La  Vie,  Etudes  des  Problemes  de  Physiologic  Generate,"  Chauffard, 
pp.  327,  328. 


OLDER  OBJECTIONS.  169 

show  that  the  organ  has  not  been  able  to  overcome  the  influence 
of  abnormal  conditions.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that 
the  final  cause  is  in  contradiction  with  the  efficient  cause,  and 
that  its  triumph  is  made  only  the  more  marked  by  the  absence 
of  the  means  or  elements  adapted  to  its  realisation.  It  would 
then  be  a  perpetual  miracle." l  The  true  idea  of  the  final  cause 
is  that  which  makes  use  of  the  means  best  adapted  to  the 
realisation  of  the  end.  The  properties  of  the  elements  of 
which  the  organism  is  composed,  are  called  into  play  by  the 
final  cause;  the  more  readily  these  elements  lend  themselves 
to  its  combinations,  the  more  is  the  ordered  harmony  of  things 
made  manifest.  The  architect  shows  his  skill,  not  only  in 
preparing  the  plans  for  the  building,  but  also  in  making  use  of 
materials  fitted  for  his  purpose.  We  cannot  conceive  how  the 
existence  of  these  suitable  materials  can  be  in  any  way  incom- 
patible with  the  idea  of  plans  prepared  for  their  employment 
and  combination.  It  is  still  more  absurd  to  imagine  such 
incompatibility  in  reference  to  the  world,  since  in  this  case  the 
Architect  not  only  uses  fitting  materials,  but  materials  which 
he  has  himself  prepared,  and  which  he  has  endowed  with  the 
properties  necessary  to  the  execution  of  his  design  ;  while  at 
the  same  time  they  are  no  more  able  of  themselves  to  enter 
into  his  plan  in  its  fulness  and  complexity,  than  the  hewn  stones 
are  of  forming  themselves  into  walls  and  arches.  To  urge  as 
an  argument  against  design,  that  is,  against  intelligent  direction, 
the  predisposition  of  things  to  adapt  themselves  to  their  ends, 
by  virtue  of  the  laws  which  govern  them  and  the  properties 
with  which  they  are  endowed,  is  to  say  that  the  rational  dis- 
position of  things  is  contrary  to  reason.  The  final  cause  makes 
use  of  the  efficient  cause ;  it  makes  all  the  laws  of  nature, 
all  the  properties  of  the  organism  subserve  its  purpose.  We 
fail  to  understand  why  this  adaptation  of  means  to  an  end, 
which  in  all  human  industries  is  regarded  as  a  striking  proof 
of  intelligence,  should  in  this  case  be  made  an  argument 
1  "  Des  Causes  Finales,"  Janet,  Book  I.,  chap.  iv. 


170  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

against  it  Does  not  skill  in  human  labour  consist  in  making 
the  best  possible  use  of  the  materials  and  Jbrces  at  com- 
mand, and  not  in  dispensing  with  them  ?  These  materials 
and  forces  produce  no  work  of  art  without  the  intelligence 
which  uses  and  combines  them.  That  intelligence  would  be 
itself  unproductive  if  it  .had  not  materials  and  forces  at  its 
disposal.  The  final  and  the  efficient  cause  must  not  be 
separated ;  the  one  requires  the  other ;  but  the  efficient  cause 
only  produces  harmony,  a  world  ordered  in  all  its  parts  and  in 
its  totality,  if  it  is  preceded  and  directed  by  a  first  and  final 
cause  at  once  intelligent  and  powerful 


CHAPTER  III. 

OBJECTIONS  FOUNDED   ON  THE  CONSERVATION  AND 
TRANSFORMATION  OF  ENERGY. 

ALL  progress  in  science,  every  new  theory  in  physics  or 
biology,  whatever  may  be  its  degree  of  certainty,  is  in  our  day 
urged  as  an  argument  against  design.  Much  has  been  made 
therefore  of  the  generally  admitted  fact  that  heat,  light,  elec- 
tricity, magnetism,  are  only  so  many  phases  of  energy.  In  a 
steam  engine,  the  heat  disengaged  by  the  burning  coal,  trans- 
forms itself  into  the  work  done  by  the  shaft  of  the  engine. 
If  a  paddle  is  made  to  revolve  in  a  body  of  water,  the  water 
becomes  heated.  Light  and  sound  are  only  undulations  of  the 
ether  and  the  air.  Electricity  and  magnetism  are  of  the  same 
nature.  We  have  here  then  only  one  energy  which  persists  in 
equal  amount  through  its  manifold  transformations.  Such  as 
it  was  in  its  original  form,  it  remains  after  every  successive 
change,  always  identical  with  itself,  like  water,  the  mass  of 
which  is  undiminished  by  all  the  phenomena  of  evaporation. 
When  the  sun's  rays  draw  up  the  water  from  the  streams, 
clouds  are  formed  ;  these  clouds  become  charged  with  elec- 
tricity, lightning  flashes  from  them,  and  the  watery  vapour  falls 
again  in  rain.  We  have  thus  a  succession  of  changes,  and  we 
find  at  the  close  of  the  series  the  very  same  bulk  of  water  as 
in  the  initial  stage.  That  which  we  call  energy  is  only  motion 
transformed.  Heat,  electricity,  magnetism,  are  only  so  many 

171 


172  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

differing  modes  of  motion ;  all  are  to  be  traced  to  motions  of 
the  ether;  we  find  these  affecting  even  the  cohesion  of  bodies, 
and  causing  their  greater  or  less  density.1 

It  would  follow  that  nothing  is  lost,  nothing  created.  This 
proposition  is  constantly  advanced  as  an  axiom.  Hence  it  is 
concluded  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  but  motion 
under  various  forms,  obeying  the  inflexible  laws  of  mechanics. 
The  world  is  a  piece  of  pure  mechanism,  governed  by  necessity 
alone.  We  must  cease  therefore  to  speak  of  prevision,  choice, 
combination,  adaptation  to  any  end  whatsoever.  All  is  neces- 
sary, and  is  produced  of  necessity  in  this  empire  of  all-absorb- 
ing energy.  Let  us  see  if  design  can  vindicate  itself  against 
this  iron  law. 

And  first  we  say  that  we  cannot  accept  as  an  axiom  the 
proposition  upon  which  this  whole  argument  is  based : 
Nothing  is  created,  nothing  lost.  It  is  not  at  all  certain  that 
nothing  is  created,  that  no  new  element  of  energy  or  of  life  can 
be  produced.  We  have  no  right  to  appeal  in  support  of  this 
thesis  to  the  succession  of  natural  phenomena  going  on  before 
our  eyes ;  for  the  creative  act,  if  it  took  place,  must  have  pre- 
ceded this  linked  series,  and  must  therefore  be  independent  of 
it  It  is  just  because  this  fact  of  succession  does  not  suffice  to 
produce  the  initial  life,  that  it  fails  to  explain  it.  If  we  confine 
ourselves  to  motion,  have  we  not  already  seen  that  it  must 
at  some  time  have  received  its  first  impulse  ?  We  are  obliged 
then  to  admit  at  least  one  act  which  it  has  not  produced. 

Again,  how  can  we  set  aside  all  creative  action  in  nature,  if 
it  is  impossible  by  any  mechanical  or  physico-chemical  laws 
to  evolve  the  higher  from  the  lower  grades  of  existence,  if 
nature  has  never  succeeded  in  producing  a  vegetable  from  a 
mineral?  Before  we  formulate  as  an  axiom  the  negation  of 
any  creative  act,  we  must  get  rid  of  this  grave  objection.  We 
allow  that  the  second  part  of  the  axiom  :  Nothing  is  lost,  is  less 

1  See  "  La  Physique  Moderne,"  "  Essai  sur  1' Unite  des  Phcnomcncs 
Naturels."  Saigey. 


LATER   OBJECTIONS.  173 

opert  to  question,  although  so  thoughtful  a  philosopher  as  M. 
Renouvier  holds  that  it  is  not  conclusively  proved.1 

After  all,  we  can  only  speak  of  the  universe  with  which  we 
are  acquainted,  and  it  is  not  open  to  us  to  extend  the  conclu- 
sions drawn  from  the  experimental  method  beyond  the  sphere 
of  our  experience.  Do  we  not  see  indeed  in  our  own  planet, 
germs  of  life  never  developed,  existences  which  fail  of  their 
full  fruition?  And  is  not  this,  in  a  sense,  a  loss?2 

But  if  we  accept  hypothetically  the  theory  that  nothing  is 
lost,  and  that  the  fact  of  the  transformation  of  energy,  of  which 
science  is  ever  accumulating  proof,  involves  this  as  a  conse- 
quence ;  are  we  therefore  to  conclude  that  all  freedom  of 
action,  all  design,  is  excluded  by  pure  determinism.  Must  we 
recognise  in  the  laws  of  nature  which  govern  this  transforma- 
tion of  energy,  and  which  are  the  laws  of  motion,  a  character 
of  fatality  which  would  exclude  anything  like  free  and  intelli- 
gent causation,  capable  of  willing  a  certain  end  and  seeking 
to  realise  it  by  appropriate  means.  A  very  simple  distinction, 
brought  out  with  much  force  of  reasoning  by  a  young  contem- 
porary philosopher,  M.  Boutroux,  frees  us  from  this  necessity. 
It  is  the  distinction  already  made  by  Aristotle  between  matter 
and  form,  quantity  and  quality.  This  world  of  self-identical 
energy  is  the  world  of  pure  matter,  of  uniform  quantity,  without 
life,  without  progress.  It  is  the  sphere  of  an  existence  so 
abstract  that  it  is  as  dead.  Here  indeed  force  rules  with  un- 
divided sway  ;  quantity  without  the  quality  which  differentiates 
and  determines  it,  is  only  the  substratum  of  life ;  it  is  not  life 
itself.  It  is  brute  matter,  like  the  stone  which  the  scu'ptor  has 
had  hewn  from  the  mountain  side.  According  to  Aristotle, 
this  matter  contains  all  possibilities  without  realising  any ;  it 
remains  a  vague,  confused,  undifferentiated  mass.  Here  there 
can  be  no  change  because  there  is  no  real  life,  because  this  form- 
less existence  is  reduced  to  the  state  of  nonentity.  In  this  low 

1  "Critique  Philosophique,"  Aug.  2Oth,  1875. 

8  "  De  la  Continence  des  Lois  de  la  Nature,"  p.  204.     Boutroux. 


174  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

sphere,  everything  is  mechanical,  and  knows  no  other  lawthan 
those  of  mass  and  motion.  All  is  changed  when  to  this  dead 
abstract  quantity,  quality  is  added,  that  is  to  say,  the  form 
which  differentiates,  harmonises,  moulds  it  to  an  end,  an  ideal. 
Then  we  have  no  longer  simply  the  unformed  stone  obeying 
the  laws  of  gravitation ;  we  have  the  stone  pointed  and  polished, 
becoming  an  instrument  of  service ;  or  animated  by  the  sculp- 
tor's .chisel  with  a  sublime  thought,  as  he  charms  out  of  the 
shapeless  block  forms  of  heroism,  grandeur,  beauty.  The  stone 
when  it  was  only  a  quantity,  knew  no  law  but  that  of  motion ; 
as  soon  as  form  appears  it  owns  a  higher  power,  that  of  intelli- 
gence. 

Let  it  be  observed  that  this  intelligence  works  freely  and 
not  of  necessity.  The  block  of  marble  had  but  one  mode  of 
existence,  it  could  not  escape  the  laws  of  motion.  But  the 
sculptor  can  modify  it  in  a  hundred  ways,  he  can  shape  it  into 
a  ram  or  a  lion,  an  Achilles  or  a  Briseis,  a  hearth  or  an  altar. 
Form  has  open  to  it  all  possibilities,  consequently  it  has  free- 
dom of  choice  and  with  it  freedom  as  to  the  end  to  be  attained. 
This  formless  stone  is  matter ;  it  is  the  world  still  in  the  state 
of  pure  quantity,  subject  to  the  inflexible  laws  of  motion.  The 
same  stone  fashioned  into  countless  statues  representing  various 
forms  of  human  strength  and  beauty,  is  the  world  of  quality,  of 
form,  the  world  of  life  reflecting  at  once  thought  and  volition. 
With  form  we  get  a  thinking  and  determining  cause  which  has 
made  its  choice  among  the  multitude  of  possibilities,  and 
realises  its  idea  by  making  use  of  pre-existing  materials.  It  is 
this  which  sets  the  impress  of  design  on  all  the  co-efficient 
causes  which  it  alone  has  united  in  the  execution  of  one  great 
plan. 

We  trace  this  freedom  of  choice,  without  which  there  is  no 

purposive  cause,  as  clearly  in  the  origin  of  things  as  in  their 

determination  in  harmony  with  pre-conceived  ends.1     Matter, 

the  world  of  quantity  into  the  principles  of  which  we  are  now 

1  "  De  la  Contingence  des  Lois  de  la  Nature,"  Boutroux,  c.  ii. 


LATER   OBJECTIONS.  175 

inquiring,  is  the  world  of  abstract  life  which  includes  all  possi- 
bilities. It  is  the  possibility  of  being  rather  than  its  reality. 
There  is  no  positive  necessity  that  this  possibility  should 
become  a  reality.  Either  we  must  assume  that  the  possible  is 
already  the  real,  which  is  a  paradox,  or  if  we  distinguish  the 
two,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  possible  does  not  of  itself 
pass  into  the  real;  that  it  may  remain  in  its  undetermined 
state,  and  consequently  that  there  must  come  from  without, 
and  if  possible  from  above,  the  interposition  of  a  will  which 
shall  choose  between  the  maintenance  of  the  possible  in  its 
potential  state,  and  its  passage  to  the  full  and  complete  exis- 
tence of  reality. 

This  reality  of  life  is  capable  of  assuming  all  imaginable 
forms  and  qualities.  In  order  to  impress  upon  it  the  particular 
form  and  quality  which  it  has  assumed,  there  must  have  been 
another  choice,  another  thought,  another  free  act.  All  progress 
in  the  life  of  the  world,  every  new  development,  implies  this 
intervention  of  a  free  choice,  for  no  new  development  can  have 
the  character  of  necessity  unless  it  was  absolutely  contained  in 
the  antecedents  and  needed  no  addition.  If  this  were  so  we 
should  never  get  anything  beyond  these  antecedents,  we  should 
never  obtain  a  real  development  To  produce  a  true  develop- 
ment a  fresh  element  is  required ;  and  as  this  fresh  element  is 
not  to  be  found  in  the  immediate  antecedent,  it  must  be  sought 
higher.  Since  it  is  not  necessary  it  must  have  been  the  object 
of  a  choice,  of  an  act  of  will  and  of  power.  It  is  possible  that 
it  may  have  been  latent  from  the  beginning  in  the  being  in 
whom  it  shows  itself  at  the  right  time;  but  if  we  have  to  admit 
anything  which  cannot  be  explained  by  simple  and  direct  ante- 
cedents, we  are  carried  back  to  an  intelligent  and  competent 
cause.  It  matters  little  whether  the  germ  of  the  higher  life  was 
originally  deposited  in  the  embryo,  or  was  added  subsequently; 
it  is  enough  that  its  manifestation  cannot  be  explained  by  the 
immediate  antecedents  of  the  organic  life ;  we  are  then  con- 
strained to  seek  a  higher  cause.  "  It  is  impossible  to  derive 


176  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

the  higher  forms  of  life  from  the  lower  by  means  of  analysis, 
because  they  contain  elements  which  cannot  be  reduced  tc 
those  of  a  lower  grade."1  They  find  in  the  grades  beneath 
them  their  matter  but  not  their  form,  and  it  is  the  form  which 
fashions  the  matter.  There  is  not  only  continuity  in  organic 
life,  there  is  succession,  gradation,  subordination  of  the  lower  to 
the  higher,  and  consequently  the  formation  of  the  lower  with  a 
view  to  the  higher.  Hence,  organic  nature,  having  emerged 
from  the  limbo  of  pure  quantity,  escapes  the  laws  of  an  inevit- 
able development.  If  the  laws  which  govern  it  have  an  element 
of  contingency,  they  issue  nevertheless  in  co-ordination  and 
regular  succession.  A  powerful  hand  working  freely  has  forged 
all  the  early  links  of  the  chain  of  life,  which  interlocking  form 
the  organised  world.  In  each  new  development,  in  each  ex- 
pansion of  the  form  and  of  the  informing  idea,  there  has  been 
a  fresh  manifestation  of  a  free  and  intelligent  cause.  Remove 
this  and  you  have  only  the  dead  and  silent  world  of  abstract 
quantity ;  you  have,  so  to  speak,  shut  up  in  a  glacial  bed  the 
full-flowing  river  of  life,  whose  course  has  been  so  admirably 
traced. 

The  free  and  intelligent  cause  does  not  merely  manifest 
itself  in  living  and  progressive  nature,  it  knows  also  how  to  use 
for  its  own  ends  the  blind  mechanical  forces,  the  energy  which 
remains  the  same  under  all  its  various  phases.  It  employs 
this  as  its  instrument,  it  makes  it  work  in  such  a  way  as  to 
maintain  the  equilibrium  of  the  cosmos,  and,  without  ever 
violating  its  laws,  it  compels  it  to  fulfil  its  purposes  by  placing 
it  under  certain  chosen  conditions.  The  stone  does  not  cease 
to  be  subject  to  the  law  of  gravitation  when  it  is  thrown  up 
into  the  air  by  a  man's  hand,  and  yet  its  obedience  is  rendered 
under  special  conditions  which  would  never  have  arisen  spon- 
taneously. We  have  in  this  illustration  a  very  inadequate 
example  of  the  contingent  and  unforeseen  effects  which  the 
highest  cause  may  produce  by  means  of  laws  apparently  the 
1  "  De  la  Contingence  des  Lois  de  la  Nature,"  Boutroux,  c.  ii. 


LATER   OBJECTIONS.  177 

most  completely  subject  to  physical  necessity.      There  is  an 
element  of  contingency  in  their  use. 

Design  is  manifested  not  only  as  active  in  the  informing  idea 
of  things,  but  also  in  the  organisms  of  the  higher  grades  of 
existence.  The  more  we  rise  in  the  scale  the  more  free  and 
intelligent  do  we  discover  its  working  to  be,  and  the  more  does 
the  living  organism  escape  from  the  region  of  the  mechanical, 
or  at  least  learn  how  to  control  and  make  use  of  it  in  subor- 
dination to  an  end.  Even  in  the  lower  manifestations  of  life 
we  find  above  mere  mechanical  motion  (which  is  always  trans- 
mitted in  invariable  quantity,  rendering  neither  more  nor  less 
than  it  has  received)  another  kind  of  motion,  spontaneous 
motion,  which  escapes  the  mechanical  laws  just  in  proportion 
to  its  elevation  in  the  scale  of  life.  Even  before  it  becomes 
free  will,  capable  of  resisting  the  impulse  from  without,  and 
thus  showing  that  it  is  not  the  mere  translation  and  effect  of 
that  impulse,  spontaneous  motion  asserts  itself  in  all  living  or- 
ganisms. This  action  may  be  excited  by  external  causes,  but  it 
is  perfectly  distinct  from  them  in  the  very  slightest  movements 
whether  of  the  sensation  or  the  will.  "  To  live,"  as  has  been 
well  said  by  M.  Chauffard,  "  is  to  feel,  to  be  nourished,  to  en- 
gender, to  move,  to  will.  Life  makes  use  indeed  of  matter  and 
of  motion,  but  it  is  not  produced  by  either.  It  is  in  the  livihg 
organism  alone  that  we  find  sensation  and  function,  and  these 
are  quite  distinct  in  their  essence  from  any  motion  transmitted 
from  without.  So  long  as  the  motion  communicated  remains 
simply  a  physical  motion,  so  long  as  it  is  not  accompanied 
by  a  corresponding  sensation,  it  is  motion  without  life.  As 
soon  as  the  motion  which  affects  the  organic  nature  excites  the 
sensibility  of  the  living  organism,  as  soon  as  it  is  conscious  by 
virtue  of  its  own  spontaneity  of  the  co-operation  of  the  living 
organism  it  becomes  feeling,  thought,  voluntary  motion,  will."  1 

1  "La  Vie,  Etudes  des  Problemes  de  Physiologic  Generate, "  p.  225. 
Chauflard.  We  reserve  to  the  anthropological  section  of  our  work  the 
question  of  reflex  movements. 

N 


178  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

Thus  spontaneity  is  distinguished  from  motion ;  spontaneity 
is  life,  the  form,  the  thought,  the  will  appearing  in  matter, 
and  raising  it  above  itself.  The  design  which  reveals  itself  so 
plainly  in  the  universe  is  traceable  in  the  lowest  forms  of  or- 
ganised life.  Before  it  reaches  its  glorious  consummation  in  the 
moral  being,  the  head  and  crown  of  the  material  world,  we  find 
it  in  free  and  spontaneous  operation  in  the  lower  world,  thus 
reflecting  everywhere  the  attributes  of  the  great  First  Cause. 

Nothing  is  lost,  we  are  told.  This  may  be  possible  as  far  as 
motion  is  concerned ;  but  suppose  that  all  which  goes  beyond 
the  merely  mechanical,  all  the  moral  and  intellectual  life,  the 
clustering  blossoms  of  thought,  of  art,  of  civilisation,  suppose  all 
these  are  swept  away,  could  we  say  nothing  was  lost  ?  Rather 
would  anything  remain  worth  speaking  of,  though  mechanical 
force  were  left  to  carry  on  its  work  of  transformation,  and 
motion  went  on  developing  heat,  light,  electricity,  magnetism  ? 
What  a  yawning  sepulchre  such  a  world  would  be,  and  yet  it 
would  remain  faithful  to  the  famous  axiom  !  This  perfectly 
rational  hypothesis  suffices  to  show,  that  while  nothing  was  lost 
from  the  point  of  view  of  mere  motion,  everything  might  be 
lost  from  the  point  of  view  of  life,  which  is  not  simply  quantity 
but  quality,  form,  thought,  purpose. 

We  find  emphatic  confirmation  of  these  conclusions  in  M. 
Claude  Bernard's  lectures  on  the  phenomena  of  life  common  to 
animals  and  vegetables,  published  after  his  death  by  M.  Paul 
Bert.  "  Matter,"  he  says  in  his  second  lecture,  "  the  mould  of 
the  protoplasm,  has  no  form.  It  would  only  give  the  absolutely 
indeterminate.  It  is  morphology  (the  science  of  form)  which 
distinguishes  and  individualises  living  beings.  Form  charac- 
terises definite  life  alone.  Morphology  shows  us  an  ideal  plan 
which  is  carried  out  step  by  step.  The  point  of  departure  is 
apparently  identical,  the  ultimate  issues  are  infinitely  diver- 
sified."1 

1  "  Les  Phenomenes  de  la  Vie  comrimne  aux  Animaux  et  aux  Vegetaux." 
Claude  Bernard,  p.  330. 


LATER   OBJECTIONS.  179 

We  know  that  M.  Claude  Bernard  holds  that  teleology 
belongs  to  the  sphere  of  metaphysics,  that  it  is  a  speculative 
question  on  which  natural  science  has  no  right  to  pronounce. 
Nevertheless  he  admits  that  the  living  organism  would  remain 
eternally  in  the  indeterminate  state  without  that  morphology 
which  implies  a  directing  and  formative  idea,  in  a  word,  design. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM. 

THE  most  important  reaction  of  our  day  against  the  theistic 
explanation  of  the  universe,  which  recognises  in  it  the  marks 
of  design  and  of  an  intelligent  purpose,  was  inaugurated  by  the 
scientific  movement  known  as  Darwinism.  The  problems 
raised  by  Darwin  and  his  disciples  are  of  the  highest  import- 
ance, and  have  already  called  forth  a  considerable  literature. 
The  subject  of  incessant  discussion  in  books  and  periodicals, 
Darwinism  is  certainly  one  of  the  best-known  systems  of  the 
day.  Our  reference  to  it  need  be  only  brief,  and  confined  to 
the  objections  which  it  is  supposed  to  raise  against  the  doc- 
trine of  design.  For  a  fuller  acquaintance  with  it  we  refer  the 
reader  to  the  special  works  themselves. 

We  would  make,  at  the  outset,  a  distinction  which  appears 
to  us  of  the  first  importance,  between  Darwinism,  which  is  a 
simple  theory  of  natural  history,  and  transformism  as  a  mate- 
rialistic explanation  of  the  origin  of  things.  The  former  raises 
only  the  question  of  the  how  ;  the  latter  enters  upon  the  why. 
Darwinism,  which  is  confined  within  the  limits  of  biology, 
deals  solely  with  the  conditions  of  the  existence  of  life ;  mate- 
rialistic transformism  professes  to  solve  the  problem  of  its 
cause  and  origin.  Darwinian  biology  explains  the  develop- 
ment of  existence  in  the  universe  by  an  evolution  subject  to 
certain  laws  ;  but  it  does  not  assume  the  right  of  excluding 
a  purposive  cause,  either  in  the  principle  of  things  or  in  their 
progressive  evolution.  Materialistic  transformism,  on  the  con- 
trary, distinctly  repudiates  it,  and  professes  to  explain  the 

180 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM.  181 

development  of  existence  by  evolution  and  its  laws,  without 
allowing  any  scope  for  the  intervention  of  an  intelligent  cause. 
It  follows  that  theism  stands  altogether  apart  from  the  purely 
scientific  question,  as  it  is  bound  to  do,  for,  as  we  have  re- 
peatedly said,  so  long  as  science  confines  itself  to  the  verification 
and  classification. of  facts,  and  to  the  deduction  of  their  conse- 
quences by  its  own  proper  methods,  it  is  supreme.  Whether  the 
Darwinian  theory  of  evolution  be  demonstrated  or  not,  theism 
has  nothing  to  lose  by  it.  Let  the  conditions  of  existence  be 
determined  as  they  may,  the  question  of  its  cause  and  origin 
remains  untouched.  Thus  Darwinism  has  been  accepted  by 
the  most  avowed  spiritualists,  as  is  evidenced  by  Mr.  Wallace's 
able  book  on  Natural  Selection.  Mr.  Wallace  had  arrived  by 
his  own  researches  at  the  very  same  conclusions  as  Darwin, 
before  the  latter  had  given  any  formal  or  systematic  exposition 
of  his  views.  Yet  Mr.  Wallace  has  shown  in  the  most  cate- 
gorical manner  that  natural  selection  implies  design  at  least, 
as  strongly  as  the  theory  of  successive  creations.  This  will  be 
made  abundantly  clear  by  the  extracts  we  shall  give  from  his 
book  in  our  review  of  the  Darwinian  theories.1 

It  is  not  possible  to  reconcile  materalistic  transformism  with 
theism,  since  it  assumes  to  answer  at  once  the  question  of  the 
conditions  of  existence,  and  that  of  its  origin.  It  cannot  co- 
exist with  theism,  for  both  cannot  be  true.  This  distinction 
indicates  the  order  we  shall  follow  in  our  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject. We  shall  first  show  that,  so  far  from  being  opposed  to  a 
purposive  cause,  Darwinian  biology  implies  it,  with  the  reserva- 
tion that  it  still  lacks  scientific  demonstration.  In  the  second 
place  we  shall  show  that  the  materialistic  transformism  which 
repudiates  any  intelligent  cause,  ignores  the  true  limits  and 
principles  of  science,  and  instead  of  starting  with  the  observa- 
tion and  verification  of  facts,  is  based  upon  pure  hypothesis. 
It  builds  in  the  clouds. the  ponderous  edifice  of  a  world  without 
mind. 

1  "  Natural  Selection."     Essays  by  A.  R.  Wallace. 


182  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 


I.  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION. 

Naturalists  had  recognised  the  principle  of  evolution  long 
before  Darwin's  day.  If  by  evolution  we  mean  the  graduated 
scale  of  being  rising  by  regular  stages,  life  becoming  fuller  and 
more  defined  with  each  upward  step,  then  evolution  is  but 
another  name  for  the  order  of  the  universe.  It  corresponds  to 
the  principle  which  we  have  already  found  running  through  all 
creation,  that  the  lower  exists  in  view  of  the  higher,  and  serves 
to  uphold  it.  This  kind  of  evolution  does  not  at  all  imply 
that  one  species  can  be  transformed  into  another;  they  may 
succeed  each  other  and  yet  not  spring  out  of  one  another. 
Each  species  continues  to  consist  of  individuals  more  or  less 
resembling  each  other,  and  all  tracing  back  their  ancestry 
through  an  uninterrupted  and  natural  succession  of  generations 
to  one  primitive  pair. 

With  Darwin  evolution  has  quite  another  significance.  In 
his  view  it  consists  in  the  transformation  of  species  from  one 
to  another,  so  that  they  do  not  form  each  a  fixed  step  in  the 
ladder  of  existence,  but  simply  a  halting-place  which  may  be 
left  behind  under  certain  conditions.1 

The  English  naturalist  was  not  without  precursors.  La- 
marck, Goethe,  Geoffrey  St.  Hilaire,  had  held  similar  views,  not 
to  mention  Diderot,  who  is  the  true  initiator  of  philosophic 
transformism.  To  Darwin,  however,  belongs  the  honour  of 
having  revived  this  hypothesis  and  rendered  it  plausible,  by  his 
patient  observation  of  the  result  of  cross  breeding  in  domestic 
animals.  He  obtained  by  this  means  astonishing  variations. 
The  same  experiments  have  been  made  on  certain  plants.  The 
first  results  were  due  to  the  very  careful  choice  of  the  parent 
animals,  so  that  their  good  points  should  be  reproduced  still 

1  "Origin  of  Species,"  Darwin.  "The  Descent  of  Man  and  Sexual 
Selection,"  1877.  "L'Unite  de  1'Espece,"  Quatrefages. 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— 7 RANSFORMISM.   183 

more  strongly  in  their  offspring.  Here  was  an  application  of 
the  artificial  selection  always  employed  in  farms  and  gardens 
by  breeders  and  horticulturists.  Darwin  does  not  hesitate  to 
attribute  to  Nature  herself  a  similar  principle  of  selection 
by  which  new  combinations  are  produced.  Natural  selection 
is  distinguished  from  artificial,  in  that  it  cannot  choose  deli- 
berately and  with  cognisance  of  the  end  in  view,  the  males  and 
females  endowed  with  particular  advantages,  which  advantages, 
being  handed  down  cumulatively  to  their  posterity,  might 
raise  them  to  a  higher  grade  of  existence.  We  must  then 
find  the  principle  of  this  selection  somewhere  else  than  in 
deliberate  choice.  Here  comes  in  a  second  law,  the  law  of 
the  struggle  for  existence,  that  unconscious  and  barbarous 
Malthusianism  of  Nature  which  compels  the  creatures  to  engage 
in  perpetual  warfare  if  they  are  to  exist.  In  every  species,  the 
feeble  succumb ;  for  inferiority  is  in  all  cases  the  sentence  of 
death.  The  strong  and  gifted  alone  survive.  In  surviving,  they 
hand  down  their  advantages  to  their  descendants.  This  trans- 
mission is  accomplished  by  virtue  of  the  third  law  formulated 
by  Darwinism,  the  law  of  heredity,  which  perpetuates  and 
strengthens  the  qualities  transmitted.  A  fourth  law,  that  of 
the  co-ordination  of  the  organs,  according  to  which  every  par- 
tial modification  leads  gradually  to  a  modification  in  the  other 
corresponding  organs.  The  new  and  modifying  elements, 
transmitted  by  generation,  and  preserved  by  heredity,  bring 
about  those  permanent  and  harmonious  transformations  with- 
out which  Nature  would  only  produce  accidental  changes 
which  could  never  result  in  new  species.  One  further  law, 
that  of  the  adaptation  of  the  living  organism  to  its  environ- 
ment, by  which,  under  the  pressure  of  necessity,  it  adapts  its 
organs  to  the  new  conditions  of  existence,  completes  the  ex- 
planation of  universal  evolution.  Such,  in  its  main  features, 
is  the  Darwinian  theory. 

Before  inquiring  whether  it  really  offers  an  adequate  expla- 
nation of  all  the  transformations  of  living  creatures,  or  whethei 


184  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

it  has  only  a  restricted  application,  we  affirm  that,  so  far  from 
being  opposed  to  a  purposive  cause,  it  implies  it.  Passing  by, 
for  the  present,  the  difficulty,  insurmountable  as  it  appears  to  us, 
which  the  production  of  life  presents  to  Darwinism  as  to  every 
other  naturalistic  system,  let  us  look  at  the  evolution  of  living 
beings  according  to  the  laws  indicated.  The  general  idea  of 
evolution,  as  formulated  by  Darwin,  is  not  intelligible  apart 
from  design.  Evolution  is,  in  his  view,  inseparable  from  the 
idea  of  progress  ;  it  is  the  realisation  of  progress  from  one  stage 
of  being  to  another ;  it  advances  from  the  less  to  the  greater ; 
it  is  always  tending  to  higher  development.  What  can  this  sig- 
nify, except  the  carrying  out  of  a  plan  ?  for  there  is  no  possi- 
bility of  distinguishing  the  lower  from  the  higher,  or  of  knowing 
which  is  best,  if  intelligence  in  nature  is  denied.  Take  this 
away  and  you  have  no  longer  any  criterion  by  which  to  esti- 
mate the  value  of  things  ;  all  are  confounded  in  a  common 
equality.  If  nature  tends  to  higher  developments,  it  is  because 
it  is  guided  by  intelligence. 

Now  this  upward  tendency,  this  progress,  can  only  be  pro- 
duced by  an  intelligent  and  powerful  cause.  A  thing  can  only 
be  said  to  be  better,  when  it  is  not  identical  with  the  thing 
going  before.  One  of  two  alternatives  then  must  be  admitted. 
Either  a  new  element  of  perfectness  has  been  added,  or  it  was 
virtually  present  in  the  existence  in  its  primitive  state,  waiting 
only  the  fitting  time  for  its  actual  development.  In  either  case, 
an  intelligent  and  powerful  cause  is  implied,  one  which  cannot 
be  confounded  with  pure  matter,  for  matter  alone  is  incapable 
either  of  raising  itself  above  itself  or  of  implanting  the  germ 
of  future  developments.  The  intelligent  cause  would  not  ap- 
pear to  us  any  less  admirable  because  it  had  placed  in  Nature 
a  principle  of  development,  containing  in  itself  all  future  pro- 
gress, than  if  we  could  trace  it  in  repeated  fresh  creative  inter- 
ventions, giving  added  fulness  to  life.  As  Leibnitz  has  well 
said  :  "  Why  should  it  be  contrary  to  reason  that  the  word  fiat 
having  left  something  after  it,  namely  the  thing  itself,  the  no 


7 HE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM.  185 

less  wonderful  word  of  benediction,  *  Be  fruitful  and  multiply/ 
should  have  left  after  it  in  the  beings  themselves,  a  certain 
fecundity  or  organising  virtue  ?  "  The  idea  of  evolution  is  then 
inseparable  from  that  of  design. 

This  is  shown  with  much  force  by  Mr.  Wallace  in  his  reply 
to  the  arguments  by  which  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  in  his  "Reign 
of  Law,"  endeavoured  to  establish  that  creation,  in  every  com- 
bination which  we  can  trace,  and  in  all  that  is  beautiful, 
implies  the  constant  activity  of  the  Creator.  Mr.  Wallace 
says  :  "  The  view  of  the  universe  as  regulating  itself  is  a  far 
loftier  one  than  that  which  supposes  constant  intervention  on 
the  part  of  the  Creator.  The  world  is  so  constituted  that  the 
action  of  general  laws  produces  the  greatest  possible  variety 
of  configuration  and  climate.  Laws  equally  general  call  forth 
the  most  varied  organisms  adapted  to  the  various  conditions  of 
the  earth.  The  forces  of  inorganic  nature  regulate  and  control 
themselves.  So  is  it  also  in  the  organic  world,  where  the  laws 
are  more  complicated  and  the  instruments  more  delicate.  Can 
any  one  assume  that  harmony  so  complete  implies  a  machinery 
too  complicated  to  have  been  devised  by  the  Creator  ?  The 
theory  of  continual  intervention  puts  limits  to  the  power  of  the 
Creator.  It  implies  that  he  could  not  act  in  the  organic 
world  by  simple  laws,  that  he  was  not  able  to  foresee  the 
results  of  the  combined  laws  of  matter  and  of  mind.  It  must 
be  an  unworthy  conception  of  the  Creator  which  would  impute 
to  him  such  incapacity." l 

Every  one  of  the  laws  by  which  Darwin  essays  to  explain  the 
mode  of  universal  evolution  implies  design.  Natural  selection, 
which  is  the  basis  of  his  whole  system  of  biology,  was  sug- 
gested by  the  analogy  of  the  artificial  selection  made  by  man, 
with  the  best  exercise  of  his  reason,  and  only  rendered  success- 
ful by  careful  calculation  and  well-considered  choice.  In  this 
fact  itself  there  is  a  strong  presumption  in  favour  of  an  intelli- 
gent governing  principle  in  nature.  It  would  never  arrive  by 
1  "Natural  Selection."  A.  R.  Wallace. 


1 86  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

purely  mechanical  operations  at  the  necessary  coincidences  for 
perpetuating  the  highest  qualities  of  any  race  of  beings.  The 
mere  struggle  for  existence  would  never  bring  about  in  num- 
berless cases  the  combination  of  favourable  circumstances 
demanded  before  a  new  link  can  be  formed  in  the  chain  of 
organic  evolution. 

"  The  rock  on  which  Mr.  Darwin's  theory  splits,"  says  M. 
Janet,  "is  the  transition  from  artificial  to  natural  selection. 
In  artificial  selection  man  chooses  the  elements  of  his  combina- 
tions in  order  to  attain  a  desired  end ;  he  chooses  two  factors 
each  endowed  with  the  qualifications  he  seeks.  If  there  were 
any  difference  between  the  two,  the  result  would  be  doubtful 
or  nil.  In  order  that  the  same  results  might  be  obtained  by 
natural  selection  it  would  be  needful  that  the  male  endowed 
with  certain  qualifications  should  be  united  to  a  female  precisely 
answering  to  him ;  and  these  conditions  must  be  fulfilled  from 
generation  to  generation.  The  first  modification  having  arisen 
accidentally  and  in  an  individual  case,  would  naturally  be  rare, 
and  consequently  it  would  be  very  unlikely  to  revive  in  the 
next  generation.  Yet  it  must  be  indefinitely  repeated  under 
precisely  similar  conditions  before  the  advance  desiderated 
could  be  secured  to  the  race.  Such  a  necessity  demands 
a  power  of  thought  and  of  choice."  1 

The  struggle  for  existence  is  wholly  inadequate  to  account 
for  these  countless  coincidences.  It  is  not  enough  in  fact  that 
the  strong  should  have  triumphed  over  the  weak ;  for  mere 
strength  would  have  simply  the  result  of  transmitting,  through 
the  act  of  generation,  the  previous  type  more  strongly  accen- 
tuated, and  would  therefore  only  tend  to  preserve  not  to  trans- 
form the  species.  In  order  to  the  formation  of  a  new  type 
there  must  be,  not  only  superior  strength  in  the  male  and 
female  who  have  been  victorious  in  the  struggle  for  existence, 
but  also  a  modification  of  the  organism  which  may  be  handed 
down  and  accentuated.  Now  this  modification  needs  to  be 
1  "  De  la  Finalite,"  Janet,  p.  390. 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM.  187 

produced  at  the  same  time  in  both  sexes.  How  can  this  be 
explained  by  the  action  of  mere  mechanical  forces  ?  We  are 
obliged  then  to  seek  some  other  explanation  of  the  modification 
of  the  organs  in  the  favoured  male  and  female.  Mr.  Darwin  has 
had  recourse  to  what  he  calls  sexual  selection,  which  proceeds 
from  the  instinct  of  beauty  excited  by  sexual  union.  The  male, 
to  please  the  female,  puts  forth  all  his  efforts  and  displays  all 
his  advantages ;  in  this  way  these  advantages  become  in  some 
way  enhanced  and  transmitted  to  the  progeny.  If  this  explana- 
tion were  the  true  one,  the  male  should  always  have  the 
monopoly,  or  at  least  the  superiority  of  beauty,  since  he  only 
develops  it  at  the  bidding  of  the  instinct  which  impels  him  to 
captivate  the  female.  Now  it  is  an  acknowledged  fact  that  very 
often  the  aesthetic  advantages  are  equal  in  both  sexes.  Again, 
how  is  sexual  selection  to  be  applied  to  fishes,  which  do  not 
couple  ?  It  is  a  fact  easily  verified,  that  beauty  does  not  for 
the  most  part  exercise  any  seductive  power  over  our  domestic 
animals.  Nor  can  it  ever  be  explained  how  the  desire  to  please 
should  have  given  to  the  butterfly  its  brilliant  colours. 

Shall  we  be  told  that  the  favourable  modification  of  animals 
is  a  happy  accident  ?  We  reply,  that  an  accident  is  generally 
transitory.  The  law  of  the  influence  of  environment  has  no 
application  here.  If  the  environment  has  not  changed,  it 
cannot  have  exerted  any  modifying  influence  ;  and  so  far  from 
being  favourable  to  the  development  of  some  transformation 
produced  simultaneously  by  accident  in  a  male  and  female,  it 
would  hinder  it ;  for  it  would  be  less  adapted  to  their  existence 
than  before,  and  the  newly-acquired  advantage  would  prove 
a  real  disadvantage  in  the  struggle  for  life.  If  it  is  asserted  that 
the  organic  transformation  has  been  effected  by  the  change  of 
environment,  two  alternatives  present  themselves  :  the  trans- 
formation must  have  been  either  conscious  or  mechanical.  If 
the  latter,  we  must  admit  with  Lamarck  that  a  new  motion  has 
taken  place  in  the  media  of  the  animal,  resulting  in  an  organic 
modification.  What  has  caused  this  motion  ?  What  has  given 


i88  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

it  the  necessary  direction  ?  Why  does  it  produce  the  adapta- 
tion of  the  animal  to  the  new  environment?  The  phenomenon 
is  incomprehensible  apart  from  a  purposive  cause.  If  we 
choose  the  other  alternative — a  conscious  transformation— must 
we  suppose  that  the  animal,  stimulated  by  necessity,  has  effected 
the  modification  required  in  its  organs,  and  has  made  an  effort 
to  move  its  members  in  the  direction  necessary  for  its  safety, 
as,  for  instance,  to  fly  in  order  to  escape  pursuit  ?  Supposing 
that  the  thing  was  possible,  it  would  at  least  follow  that  the 
animal  has  a  purpose,  an  end  in  view,  and  that  design  is 
present  in  a  spontaneous  form  in  its  operations.  This  realisa- 
tion of  a  need,  this  choice  and  employment  of  means  to  satisfy 
it,  is  not  the  mere  motion  of  a  medium.  It  is  moreover  alto- 
gether chimerical  to  attribute  to  a  mere  felt  want,  an  operation 
by  which  the  organs  are  modified ;  nothing  of  the  kind  has 
ever  been  known.  Habitual  exercise  strengthens  the  organs 
and  renders  them  supple,  but  it  does  not  create.  "The 
mountebank,"  as  M.  Janet  well  says,  "has  muscles  more 
flexible  than  other  men,  but  has  he  more  ?  " 

Darwinism  fails  then  to  explain  the  modification  of  the 
organs.  It  has  not  been  content  to  admit  some  partial  modi- 
fications, but  maintains  the  theory  of  a  general  modifiction  by 
virtue  of  the  law  of  co-ordination  of  the  organs,  a  law  borrowed 
from  Cuvier.  To  speak  of  co-ordination  is  to  speak  of  design, 
for  the  directing  mind  is  never  more  evident  and  admirable 
than  in  the  delicate  adjustment  of  the  various  organs  to  their 
mutual  relations,  especially  when  this  results  from  their  peculiar 
constitution.  Matter  alone  could  never  have  endowed  them 
with  what  we  may  call  a  faculty  of  blending  in  unbroken  har- 
mony. 

We  do  not  deny  that  the  medium  in  which  living  creatures 
move  does  exert  in  a  general  way  a  very  real  influence  upon 
their  development ;  but  in  order  that  life  should  ascend  in  a 
steady  scale  of  progress  it  would  be  necessary  that  the  environ- 
ment should  be  uniformly  disposed  for  this  end.  If  the  earth 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM.   189 

had  always  beep  covered  by  the  water,  the  highest  grade  of 
life  would  have  been  attained  by  aquatic  creatures.  This  level 
has  been  left  behind  only  because  the  conditions  of  the  terres- 
trial environment  have  undergone  a  change,  and  this  change 
could  only  take  place  in  view  of  an  end.  The  earth  might 
have  been  disposed  in  such  a  way  that  the  inferior  organisms 
would  have  been  victorious  in  the  struggle  for  life.  Natural 
selection  could  not  determine  the  conditions  of  its  own  action. 
There  was  needed  a  co-ordination  between  the  creatures  and 
their  environment,  which  implies  prevision  and  design.  Thus 
the  theory  of  the  influence  of  environment  proves,  like  every 
other  naturalistic  explanation,  inadequate  to  the  case.1 

The  same  may  be  said  of  heredity,  the  rule  of  which  is,  that 
like  produces  like.  The  reasoning  is  incomplete.  Chance  may 
as  easily  produce  difference  as  resemblance.  Animals  in  the 
embryonic  stage  begin  by  differing  totally  from  their  parents. 
They  end  by  resembling  them,  but  with  elements  of  difference, 
which  differences  are  however  restricted  within  certain  limits 
for  the  maintenance  of  order  in  nature.  Generation  is  a  divine 
mystery,  for  nothing  in  the  simply  co-efficient  causes  adequately 
explains  effects  at  once  so  great  and  so  limited.2 

1  "Theism."     Flint. 

2  The  Law  of  Heredity  is  the  subject  of  M.  Th.  Ribot's  book,  entitled  : 
"L'Heredite  Psychologique."     In  it  the  distinguished  author  sums  up  all 
the  results  of  experimental  psychology,  whether  in  relation  to  individuals 
or  to  nations.     The  fact    of  hereditary  physiological  and   psychological 
transmission,  is  brought  out  with  great  clearness,  as  regards  the  general 
specific  characters  which  are  the  distinctive  features  of  the  species  in  the 
broad  sense,  of  the  race,  the  nation,  and  even  the  family.     M.  Ribot  raises 
this  to  the  dignity  of  a  law,  with  this  reservation  :  that  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten that  heredity  is  twofold,  since  it  implies  the  conjoined  influence  of- 
two,    and   is  complicated  by  this   very   combination    of   their   respective 
qualities,  which  is  not  the  same  thing  as  the  mere  addition  of  these  qualities. 
Setting  aside  for  the  moment  all  that  relates  to  the  conclusions  that  might 
be  drawn  from  this  law  of  heredity,  which,  by  the  author's  own  admission, 
is  liable  to  numerous  exceptions,  especially  in  its  application  to  individuals, 
we  find  in  his  book  a  fresh  proof  that  the  law  of  heredity  cannot  of  itself 
operate  so  as  to  produce  progressive  evolution,   without   admitting  the 


IQO  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

It  is  to  heredity  also  that  Darwinism  attributes  the  conserva- 
tion and  education  of  the  new  instincts.  The  development  of 
the  organs  would  in  itself  be  of  little  avail  in  achieving  progress 
in  the  biological  scale,  without  the  instincts  which  teach  the 
animal  the  modus  vivendi  adapted  to  its  condition  after  each 
fresh  evolution.  But  it  may  be  fairly  asked,  What  is  meant  by 
a  really  new  instinct  ?  since  instinct  is  nothing  but  a  series  of 
given  acts.  If  it  is  accidental  it  is  not  permanent,  it  is  not 
instinct  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  for  instinct  ought  to 
work  mechanically  by  the  force  of  habit  or  by  natural  predis- 
position. But  what  is  a  habit  which  has  no  past  and  is  not 
connected  with  previous  acts  ?  There  are  moreover  instincts 
which,  so  far  from  being  due  to  heredity,  alone  render  it 
possible,  and  which  are  not  connected  with  any  previous  ex- 
perience. Instinct  must  have  been  perfect  ab  initio,  or  the 
animal  could  not  have  subsisted.  Hence  it  implies  a  cause 
superior  to  its  experience  and  to  itself. l 

We  are  bound  to  recognise,  in  fact,  that  the  whole  of  this 
biological  processus,  even  in  the  proportions  to  which  it  is 
expanded  by  Darwin,  points,  in  the  actual  state  of  tilings,  to  a 
perfectly  graduated  scale,  the  steps  of  which  are  clearly  marked 
and  never  confounded.  It  is  of  no  avail  in  the  first  place  to 
deny  the  fixity  of  species ;  this  is  a  fact  to  which  our  eyes  bear 
witness.  The  stream  of  generation  in  our  day  flows  between 
well-defined  banks  which  it  never  overflows.  Nothing  could 
be  more  methodically  determined  and  graduated  than  the  life 
on  our  planet  We  have  a  right  to  ask,  taking  the  standpoint 

principle  of  design.  In  fact,  heredity  may  as  readily  render  disadvantages 
permanent  as  advantages,  and  become  an  active  cause  of  degeneration.  It 
is  necessary,  then,  that  its  operation  be  carried  on  under  favourable  circum- 
stances. "The  blind  fatality  of  its  laws  might  make  decadence  the  rule 
as  easily  as  progress."  If,  then,  on  the  whole,  universal  life  develops 
itself  in  the  direction  of  progress,  heredity  is  not  abandoned  to  a  blind 
fatality.  There  is  a  presiding  directing  power  which  makes  all  tend  in  the 
direction  of  progress.  What  is  this  but  teleology  ? 
1  "  Les  Causes  Finales."  Janet. 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM.    191 

of  Darwinism,  how  it  accounts  for  this  palpable  pr.use  in  the 
process  of  universal  transformation.  Is  it  that  these  trans- 
formations tended  to  a  certain  end,  to  the  realisation  of  fixed 
designs,  of  which  the  now  existing  species,  in  their  graduated 
life,  exhibit  the  plan  ?  It  avails  nothing  to  say  that  the  species 
is  capable  of  transforming  itself.  We  see  no  such  transforma- 
tion. Species  has  assumed  a  character  of  fixity  which  indicates 
a  stopping-place,  a  term  of  repose  reached,  a  goal  attained. 
This  is  the  view  taken  by  the  eminent  naturalist  M.  Naudin,  in 
his  modification  of  the  evolution  theory.  According  to  him, 
the  object  of  evolution  is  to  produce  definitive  species,  and 
these  were  not  defined  all  at  once.  There  was  a  period  when 
living  creatures  had  a  far  more  variable  and  plastic  habit  than 
at  present.  At  that  time  the  species  were  capable  of  modifica- 
tion, not  only  as  the  result  of  the  various  causes  enumerated 
by  Darwin,  acting  slowly  and  little  by  little,  but  by  violent  and 
rapid  crises,  which  gave  an  impetus  to  the  floods  of  life  accu- 
mulated during  the  ages  of  repose ;  for  there  is,  M.  Naudin 
tells  us,  a  rhythmic  motion  in  every  force,  which  produces 
a  reaction  of  expansion  after  contraction. 

This,  then,  is  the  history  of  the  formation  of  our  existing 
species,  which  are  not  destined  to  disappear.  "  When  nature, 
having  a  comparatively  small  number  of  primordial  types," 
says  M.  Naudin,  "would  form  species  suited  to  its  require- 
ments, it  called  into  being  successively  at  various  epochs,  all  the 
vegetable  and  animal  species  which  are  found  on  the  globe."1 

This  conception  of  evolution,  far  from  excluding  design, 
assumes  it.  M.  Naudin  says  again  :  "  When  the  species  vary, 
they  do  so  by  virtue  of  ah  intrinsic  property  which  is  a  relic  of 
their  original  plastic  character.  This  plastic  character  is  only 
another  form  of  the  principle  of  design, — a  mysterious  power, 
regarded  as  fatality  by  some,  as  the  will  of  Providence  by 
others, — whose  incessant  action  upon  living  creatures  deter- 
mines at  all  periods  of  the  world's  existence  the  value  and 
1  "Revue  Scientifique,"  March,  1876. 


192  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

duration  of  each,  according  to  its  destined  place  in  the  or- 
dered sequence  of  things.  It  is  this  power  which  brings  all  the 
members  into  one  harmonious  whole,  apportioning  to  each  its 
proper  function  in  the  general  organism ;  and  this  function  is  its 
raison  d'etre  "l 

M.  Gaudry  confirms  M.  Naudin's  view  on  this  point,  in 
his  learned  book  on  evolution  from  a  palaeontological  stand- 
point. He  says  :  "  The  discovery  of  vestiges  buried  in  the 
crust  of  the  earth,  teaches  us  that  all  the  transformations  of 
the  organic  world  form  part  of  one  great  harmony." 2 

The  doctrine  of  evolution,  thus  understood,  appears  to  us 
altogether  worthy  to  be  accepted.  It  is  for  science  to  confirm 
it.  We  may  venture  to  say  that  it  is  still  very  far  from  having 
placed  Darwinism  beyond  a  doubt,  at  least  in  its  most  absolute 
form,  the  fundamental  principle  of  which  is  the  constant 
variability  of  species  under  purely  external  influences. 

Let  us  briefly  review  the  leading  objections  to  which  it  is 
open  from  a  scientific  point  of  view. 

First. — The  notion  of  a  species  is  always  vague  with  Darwin. 
He  uses  the  term  in  an  arbitrary  way,  often  making  it  the 
synonym  for  race.  He  treats  the  species  (to  use  his  own 
expression)  as  an  artificial  grouping  necessary  for  convenience 
of  language.  If  we  adhere  to  it  as  the  description  of  a  class, 
if  we  regard  the  species  as  a  collection  of  individuals  more  or 
less  resembling  each  other,  which  may  be  considered  to  be 
descendants  of  one  primitive  pair  by  an  uninterrupted  succes- 
sion of  generations,  the  supposed  variability  of  the  species 
thus  understood  would  be  open  to  very  grave  objections. 

Second. — Actual  experience  is  not  favourable  to  Darwinism, 
for  we  do  not  discover  on  any  spot  of  the  globe  a  transforma- 
tion of  species  now  going  on.  The  struggle  for  existence 


1  "Revue  Horticole,"  1851,  p.  101. 

*  "  Enchainement    du  Monde  Animal  dans  les  Temps  Geologiques," 
Gaudry,  p.  28. 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORM1SM.  193 

leaves  ample  room  for  all  the  species,  the  vanquished  as  well 
as  the  victors.  M.  Blanchard,  in  his  "Etude  sur  rOrigine 
des  Etres,"  says  :  "  The  most  careful  investigation  compels  us 
to  recognise  a  remarkable  resemblance  among  the  individuals 
scattered  over  vast  spaces  of  the  globe.  We  find  in  them  out- 
ward variations  of  form  and  colour,  but  the  specific  type,  in 
all  its  important  features,  remains  the  same ;  even  the  change 
from  a  wild  to  a  domestic  life  produces  only  superficial  mo- 
difications. Again,  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  chance  may 
favour  the  weak  as  well  as  the  strong ;  cunning  takes  the  place 
of  strength,  and  the  procreative  faculty  bears  a  remarkable 
proportion  to  the  chances  of  destruction.1 

Third. — However  far  back  we  go  in  palaeontology,  we  find  the 
same  distinction  of  species  in  the  animal  and  vegetable  world. 
There  have  been  discovered  intermediate  species  which  give 
more  continuity  to  the  chain  of  organisms,  but  no  clear  evidence 
has  ever  been  found  of  a  transformation  of  these  species  into  one 
another.  M.  Albert  Gaudry  concludes  his  interesting  work  on 
the  links  traceable  in  the  animal  world  in  geologic  times,  with 
these  significant  words  :  "  Have  we  found  more  than  links  of 
relationship  ?  Do  we  know  the  actual  genealogy,  and  can  we 
say  that  some  one  species  is  the  direct  ancestor  of  another  ? 
In  the  majority  of  cases  we  have  not  arrived  at  this.  In 
putting  together  the  materials  of  this  work,  I  have  been 
strongly  impressed  with  the  numberless  gaps  that  we  discover, 
when  we  attempt  to  establish  by  close  sequence,  the  filiation 
of  living  organisms."  2 

As  far  as  the  geological  age  is  concerned,  we  can  trace  back 
to  its  remotest  periods  the  same  classifications  as  we  observe 
to-day.  "  The  animals,  plants,  grains,  buried  in  the  subsoil 
of  Egypt,  are  the  same  animals  and  plants  which  are  living 
to-day  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile."  3 

1  "  Origine  des  Etres,"  Blanchard,  "  Revue  des  DeuxMondes,"  1874. 

2  "  Enchainement  du  Monde    Animal    dans   les   Temps  Geologiques," 
Gaudry,  Preface.  3  Ibid. 

O 


194  THE  PROBLEM  OF  ^BEING. 

Fourth. — The  theory  of  the  constant  adaptation  of  living 
organisms  to  their  environment  is  contradicted,  M.  Blanchard 
tells  us,  by  the  fact  that  creatures  enjoying  advantages  fitted 
to  secure  them  against  surrounding  dangers,  do  not  lose  these 
advantages  in  any  degree  when  they  are  placed  beyond  the 
reach  of  those  dangers ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  we  find  that 
species  transported  into  an  unfavourable  environment,  to  which 
they  cannot  acclimatise  themselves,  perish. 

We  find  moreover,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  the  environment 
of  living  organisms  has  not  so  great  a  modifying  power  as 
has  been  supposed.  M.  Gaudry  says :  "  Organised  bodies 
are  superior  to  inorganic,  and  it  is  not  natural  to  suppose  that 
the  latter  should  determine  the  destiny  of  the  former.  The 
proof  that  physical  phenomena  are  not  the  principal  cause  of 
the  changes  in  the  organic  world,  is,  that  in  our  day  many 
hot  countries  ought  to  have  remained  in  a  physical  state  similar 
to  that  of  the  close  of  the  Miocene  Era,  and  yet  all  the  species 
found  in  them  show  marks  of  change."  l 

Fifth. — The  same  naturalist  tells  us  that  the  law  of  sexual 
selection  is  constantly  belied  by  the  frequent  unions  between 
privileged  individuals  and  those  of  a  very  inferior  type. 

Sixth. — Artificial  selection  does  not  produce  any  permanent 
new  type.  As  soon  as  its  operation  ceases,  there  is  a  return 
to  the  primitive  type,  not  only  in  the  animal,  but  also  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom,  which  may  be  taken  to  be  more  amenable 
to  radical  modifications.  M.  Faivre  has  shown,  that  after  all 
the  changes  produced  by  artificial  selection,  the  original 
species  remains,  and  reverts  spontaneously  from  the  modified 
types,  when  circumstances  or  artificial  selection  by  man  cease 
to  exert  a  modifying  influence.2 

Seventh. — The  strongest  objection  against  the  transformation 

1  "  Enchainement  du  Monde  Animal  dans  les  Temps  Geologiques," 
Gaudry,  p.  13. 

3  "Considerations  sur  la  Variabilite  de  1'Espece  et  sur  ses  Limites." 
Faivre. 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANS  FORMISAT.   195 

of  species,  is  the  almost  uniform  sterility  of  hybrids,  which 
have  never  been  brought  to  reproduce  themselves  naturally 
without  artificial  crosses.  On  this  point,  we  refer  the  reader 
to  the  demonstration  supplied  by  MM.  Blanchard  and 
Quatrefages.  M.  Blanchard  says  :  "  Science  can  no  longer 
entertain  any  doubt,  except  about  the  filiation  of  some  very 
closely  allied  species.  Wherever  one  of  the  productive  ele- 
ments predominates,  the  other  is  lost.  Thus  we  are  brought 
to  recognise  the  independent  character  of  the  specific  types 
and  the  impossibility  of  originating  a  new  and  independent 
form."1 

This  sterility  of  hybrids  is  regarded  by  MM.  Blanchard 
and  Quatrefages  as  constituting  a  fundamental  law  of  nature, 
which  alone  maintains  the  order  and  fixity  necessary  in  the 
domain  of  life  ;  for  without  this  law,  we  should  have  only  a 
chaos  of  non-coherent  and  changing  forms.2 

Species,  thus  understood,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  marks 
of  design  in  nature.  It  reveals  a  plan  profoundly  conceived 
and  strictly  carried  out.  Let  us  hear  what  one  of  the  greatest 
naturalists  of  the  day,  the  famous  Agassiz,  says  about  it :  "  In 
my  view,  nothing  shows  more  directly  and  absolutely  the 
operation  of  a  reflecting  mind,  than  all  these  categories  upon 
which  the  different  species,  genera,  families,  orders,  classes,  are 
based  in  nature  ;  nothing  more  clearly  indicates  a  deliberate 
consideration  of  the  subject,  than  the  real  and  material  mani- 
festation of  all  these  characteristics  by  a  succession  of  in- 
dividuals whose  life  is  limited  to  a  duration  comparatively 
very  short.  The  great  marvel  of  all  these  relations  consists 
in  the  fugitive  character  of  all  the  parts  of  this  great  harmony. 
While  the  species  is  persistent  during  long  periods,  the  in- 
dividuals which  represent  it  change  constantly  and  die,  one 

1  M.  Broca,  in  his  "  Memoires  Anthropologiques,"  maintains  the  opposite 
thesis  ;  but  the  facts  he  adduces  are  not  numerous  enough  to  be  decisive. 

2  See  "  Unite  de  1'Espece,"  Quatrefages  ;  and  M.  Blanchard's  articles  in 
the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.'' 


196  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

after  the  other,  in  rapid  succession.  Nothing  in  the  inorganic 
kingdom  is  calculated  to  impress  us  so  strongly  as  the  unity 
of  plan  which  is  apparent  in  the  structure  of  the  most  various 
types.  From  pole  to  pole,  under  all  meridians,  the  mammalia 
birds,  reptiles,  fishes,  exhibit  one  and  the  same  structural  plan. 
This  plan  denotes  abstract  conceptions  of  the  most  elevated 
order ;  it  far  surpasses  the  broadest  generalisations  of  the 
mind  of  man,  and  it  required  the  most  laborious  research  to 
enable  man  to  arrive  at  any  adequate  idea  at  all  of  it.  Other 
plans  not  less  marvellous,  disclose  themselves  in  the  articulata, 
the  molluscs,  the  radiata,  and  the  various  types  of  plants.  And 
yet  this  logical  relation,  this  admirable  harmony,  this  infinite 
variety  in  unity,  represent,  we  are  told,  the  result  of  forces 
devoid  of  the  least  particle  of  intelligence,  of  the  faculty  of 
thought,  the  power  of  combination,  or  the  conception  of  time 
and  space.  If  anything  in  nature  can  place  man  above  the 
other  animals,  it  is  just  the  possession  of  these  noble  powers. 
Without  these  gifts,  carried  to  a  high  degree  of  excellence  and 
perfection,  none  of  the  general  marks  of  relationship  which 
connect  the  great  types  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  kingdom 
could  be  perceived  or  understood.  How  then  could  these 
relations  have  been  conceived,  but  by  the  aid  of  analogous 
faculties  ?  If  all  these  relations  are  beyond  man's  intellectual 
power  to  grasp,  if  man  himself  is  but  a  part  or  fragment  of 
the  whole  system,  how  could  this  system  have  been  called  into 
being  if  there  were  not  a  supreme  intelligence,  the  Author  of 
all  things?"1 

We  conclude,  then,  that  Darwinism  is  far  from  being  proved 
as  an  explanation  of  the  development  of  living  organisms  ;  the 
theory  of  the  transformation  of  species  has  still  to  contend 
with  grave  difficulties  drawn  from  actual  facts.  Without  at- 
tempting to  pronounce  sentence  in  so  difficult  a  cause,  we 
maintain,  that,  even  if  Darwinism  were  triumphant,  its  victory 

Quotation  from  an  address  delivered  by  Agassiz  to  the  University  of 
Massachusetts.      "  Revue  des  Cours  Scientifiques,"  May  2,  1868. 


THE  DOCTRINE   OF  EVOLUTION.— TRANSFORMISM.  197 

would  in  no  way  affect  the  question  of  design,  so  long  as  it 
remained  true  to  the  conclusions  of  science  and  did  not  intrude 
on  the  metaphysical  domain,  and  confound  the  question  of  the 
how  with  the  why.  We  have  shown  that  there  is  no  law 
applied  by  Darwin  to  the  development  of  life  which  can  be 
explained  simply  by  the  action  of  mechanical  forces,  not  one 
which  can  come  into  operation  without  the  intervention  of  an 
intelligent  cause.  If  we  incline  to  think  that  Darwinism  ex- 
aggerates the  influence  of  these  laws,  in  supposing  that  they  offer 
an  adequate  explanation  of  the  complete  development  of  life 
on  our  globe,  in  all  its  various  stages,  we  do  not  for  a  moment 
deny  that  these  laws  have  a  very  real  influence  on  the  modi- 
fications to  which  all  organised  life  is  subject.  Darwin  has 
rendered  great  service  to  science  in  making  us  better  ac- 
quainted with  their,  operation.  It  is  doubtless  a  fact,  that 
there  is  a  struggle  for  existence,  which  prevents  the  boundless 
multiplication  of  the  feeblest  forms  of  life.  It  is  doubtless 
true  that  heredity  and  the  influence  of  environment,  the 
stimulus  of  necessity,  and  the  exercise  of  the  organs,  all 
operate  in  a  modifying  direction  upon  organised  existences ; 
but  their  surest  effect  is  to  help  to  bring  out  more  fully  the 
normal  type,  the  ideal  which  is  their  raison  d'etre.  These 
causes,  even  in  their  limited  action,  imply  an  appeal  to  design, 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  they  point  to  the  supreme  intelli- 
gence which  alone  renders  them  effectual,  and  which  by  their 
co-ordination  has  produced  this  well-ordered  and  harmonised 
world,  in  which  everything  indicates  law,  intelligence,  volition, 
in  a  word — God. 

II.  THE  MONISTIC  THEORY  OF  TRANSFORMATION. 

We  come  now  to  the  second  form  of  the  evolutionist  theory, 
which  is  called  Monism,  in  order  to  indicate  clearly  that  it 
admits  only  one  single  principle  in  universal  existence  and  in 
all  its  developments.  This  principle  is  force  ;  and  hence  it  is 


198  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

incompatible  with  theism.  The  most  pronounced  theory  of 
transformation  need  not,  even  while  repudiating  any  creative 
intervention  in  the  development  of  life,  become  materialism, 
if  it  admitted  that  life  and  mind  were  primordially  contained 
in  a  virtual  state  in  the  first  principle  of  evolution ;  for  we 
should  thus  be  carried  back  to  an  intelligent  and  powerful 
cause  as  alone  capable  of  producing  these  germs  or  poten- 
tialities which  are  distinct  from  force.  The  scientific  proof 
would  still  be  wanting,  but  the  principle  of  design  and  the 
idea  of  God  would  be  left  intact.  The  monism  of  which  we 
are  now  speaking  is  a  strictly  materialistic  theory  of  transfor- 
mation. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  it  has  found  adherents  among  the 
most  powerful  thinkers  of  our  day.  We  shall  only  refer  to  its 
two  leaders,  Herbert  Spencer  and  Hseckel.  Herbert  Spencer, 
the  author  of  the  "  First  Principles,"  has  made  the  most 
powerful  effort  known  to  us,  to  construct  by  the  mere  play 
of  mechanical  forces  a  world  utterly  without  mind.  He  has 
not  only  attempted  to  built  up  an  abstract  system  upon  purely 
speculative  bases ;  he  has  also  applied  his  first  principle  to  all 
the  spheres  of  existence  with  an  unparalleled  fulness  of  exact 
detail.  He  has  tried  to  include  in  it  all  living  creatures, 
man,  society,  morality,  religion.  His  system  is  unfolded  with 
masterly  clearness,  he  has  illuminated  science  by  his  wonderful 
insight,  without,  however,  succeeding,  as  it  appears  to  us,  in 
explaining  the  starting-point  and  the  harmonious  progression  of 
natural  evolution. 

The  first  principle  of  Herbert  Spencer's  system  is  the  law 
of  the  persistence  of  force  (i.e.,  the  conservation  of  energy) 
through  all  its  transformations ;  he  makes  this  an  axiom,  for  he 
says  it  is  not  capable  of  proof.  Matter  is  identical  with  force  ; 
universal  existence  is  explained  by  the  laws  of  transformed 
motion.1  Evolution  is  the  development  of  the  universe  in  ac- 

1  On  the  laws  of  motion,  see  Herbert  Spencer's,  "First  Principles," 
Part  II. 


HERBERT  SPENCER.  199 

cordance  with  these  laws.  The  first  of  these  laws  is,  that  mo- 
tion follows  the  line  of  least  resistance ;  all  resistance  being  an 
obstacle  to  motion,  motion  continues  identical  with  itself  so 
long  as  it  encounters  no  obstacle.  "  Motion  under  resistance 
is  continually  suffering  deductions,  and  these  unceasing  deduc- 
tions finally  result  in  the  cessation  of  the  motion."  The  second 
law  of  motion,  verified  by  universal  experience,  viz.,  that  reac- 
tion follows  action,  is  the  law  of  rhythm  or  alternation.  This 
also  is  deduced  from  the  persistence  of  force.  Since  force  can- 
not be  lost,  it  must,  after  having  been  apparently  absorbed  in 
bodies,  disengage  itself  and  reappear  by  a  kind  of  rebound  ; 
thus  action  produces  reaction.  Rhythm  is  the  necessary 
property  of  all  motion.  "  Rhythm  is  found  to  be  exhibited 
universally,  from  the  slow  gyrations  of  double  stars,  down  to  the 
inconceivably  rapid  oscillation  of  molecules  ;  from  such  terres- 
trial changes  as  those  of  recurrent  glacial  epochs  and  gradually 
alternating  elevations  and  subsidences,  down  to  those  of  the 
winds  and  tides  and  waves ;  and  is  no  less  conspicuous  in  the 
functions  of  living  organisms,  from  the  pulsations  of  the  heart 
to  the  paroxysms  of  the 'emotions."1 

This  law  of  rhythm  implies  not  merely  reaction  after  action, 
but  dissolution  after  evolution.  All  evolution  consists  in  the 
concentration  or  integration  of  a  portion  of  diffused  matter, 
and  consequently  in  the  dissipation  of  a  portion  of  motion. 
If  motion  had  always  retained  the  same  influence  over  mole- 
cules, these  would  have  remained  in  a  state  of  diffusion ; 
before  they  could  have  emerged  from  this  state,  they  must 
have  been  partially  demobilised,  that  is  to  say,  they  must 
have  lost  some  of  their  relative  motion.  By  virtue  of  evolu- 
tion an  aggregate  has  been  formed,  and  it  is  formed  only 
because  the  matter  which  composes  it  has  passed  from  a  more 
diffused  to  a  more  concentrated  state ;  in  a  word,  it  has  be- 
come contracted,  demobilised,  which  implies  a  loss  of  motion. 

Herbert  Spencer  says :  "  Evolution,  under  its  primary 
*  "  First  Principles,"  Herbert  Spencer,  p.  73. 


200  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

aspect,  is  a  change  from  a  less  coherent  to  a  more  coherent 
form,  consequent  on  the  dissipation  of  motion  and  integration 
of  matter.  This  is  the  universal  process  through  which  sensi- 
ble existences,  individually  and  as  a  whole,  pass  during  the 
ascending  period  of  their  histories.  This  proves  to  be  a 
character  displayed  equally  in  those  earliest  changes  which 
the  universe  at  large  is  supposed  to  have  undergone,  and  in 
those  latest  changes  which  we  trace  in  society  and  the 
products  of  social  life.  And  throughout  the  unification  pro- 
ceeds in  several  ways  simultaneously.  Alike  during  the 
evolution  of  the  solar  system,  of  a  planet,  of  an  organism,  of  a 
nation,  there  is  progressive  aggregation  of  the  entire  mass. 
.  .  .  We  see  this  in  that  formation  of  planets  and  satellites 
which  has  gone  on  along  with  the  concentration  of  the  nebula 
out  of  which  the  solar  system  originated ;  we  see  it  in  the 
growth  of  separate  organs  that  advance  pari  passu  with  the 
growth  of  each  organism ;  we  see  it  in  that  rise  of  special 
industrial  centres  and  special  masses  of  population,  which  is 
as'sociated  with  the  rise  of  each  society." l  In  all  these  integra- 
tions and  concentrations  of  aggregates,  there  is  loss  of  motion, 
or  there  would  not  be  concentration.  But  we  must  not  forget 
that  this  loss  is  only  apparent,  that  this  lost  motion  is  to 
reappear  under  another  form.  It  follows  that  the  aggregate 
formed  by  means  of  this  seeming  loss  of  force,  will  come  under 
the  action  of  the  modified  motion,  and,  repassing  from  the 
concentrated  to  the  diffused  state,  will  be  dissolved.  All 
aggregates,  the  largest  no  less  than  the  smallest,  are  subject  to 
this  law.  Thus  the  conclusion  of  the  evolution  of  the  cosmos, 
is  universal  dissolution,  by  virtue  of  that  great  rhythmical  law 
which  is  the  corollary  of  the  persistence  of  force.  This  disso- 
lution is  indeed  to  be  followed  by  fresh  evolutions ;  but  the 
fact  remains,  nevertheless,  that  our  world,  with  all  which  it 
contains,  is  to  be  re-absorbed  into  the  sidereal  nebula,  and  that 
it  is  ever  tending  to  the  dissolution  of  its  present  organisation. 
1  "First  Principles,"  Herbert  Spencer,  p.  327. 


HERBERT  SPENCER.  201 

"The  processes  everywhere  in  antagonism  and  everywhere 
gaining  now  a  temporary  and  now  a  more  or  less  permanent 
triumph,  the  one  over  the  other,  we  call  evolution  and  disso- 
lution. Evolution,  under  its  simplest  and  most  general  aspect, 
is  the  integration  of  matter  and  concomitant  dissipation  of 
motion  ;  while  dissolution  is  the  absorption  of  motion  and 
concomitant  disintegration  of  matter.  .  .  .  Everywhere, 
and  to  the  last,  the  change  at  any  moment  going  on,  forms  a 
part  of  one  or  other  of  the  two  processes.  During  the  earlier 
part  of  the  cycle  of  changes,  the  integration  predominates  — 
there  goes  on  what  we  call  growth.  The  middle  part  of  the 
cycle  is  usually  characterised,  not  by  equilibrium  between  the 
integrating  and  disintegrating  processes,  but  by  alternate  ex- 
cesses of  them.  And  the  cycle  closes  with  a  period  in  which 
disintegration,  beginning  to  predominate,  eventually  puts  a  stop 
to  integration,  and  undoes  what  integration  had  originally 
done."  l 

While  predicating  this  melancholy  conclusion  of  cosmical 
evolution,  Herbert  Spencer  nevertheless  seeks  to  trace  back  its 
development  to  less  general  laws  than  the  simple  integration 
and  concentration  of  matter.  The  question  arises,  How  does 
matter  pass  from  its  primordial  diffusion  to  a  state  of  integra- 
tion, the  progress  of  which  is  measured  by  the  intensity  of  the 
concentration  ?  In  the  case  of  the  living  organism,  progression 
means  differentiation,  self-determination.  Everything  begins 
in  complete  indefiniteness,  confusion,  the  absolutely  homo- 
geneous. How,  starting  from  this  homogeneous,  do  we 
arrive  by  the  simple  laws  of  motion  (accepting  as  a  principle 
the  persistence  of  force)  at  definite  multiple  existences  ?  Here 
we  must  distinguish  between  the  inorganic  and  the  organic 
world.  Both  are  subject  to  the  same  laws,  but  in  the  case  of 
the  latter  they  are  fuller,  more  complete.  Herbert  Spencer 
lays  down  two  great  laws  to  explain  the  transformation  of  the 
homogeneous  into  the  heterogeneous,  or  of  the  one  into  the 
1  "  First  Principles,"  Herbert  Spencer,  p.  285. 


202  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

multiple.  The  first  of  these  laws  is  the  instability  of  the  homo- 
geneous. "  This  instability  is  obviously  consequent  on  the  fact 
that  the  several  parts  of  any  homogeneous  aggregation  are 
necessarily  exposed  to  different  forces — forces  that  differ  either 
in  kind  or  in  amount,  and  being  exposed  to  different  forces, 
they  are  of  necessity  differently  modified.  The  relations  of 
outside  and  inside,  and  of  comparative  nearness  to  neighbour- 
ing sources  of  influence,  imply  the  reception  of  influences  that 
are  unlike  in  quantity  or  quality,  or  both;  and  it  follows  that 
unlike  changes  will  be  produced  in  the  parts  thus  dissimilarly 
acted  upon."1  Thus  the  uniform  passes  into  the  multiform, 
and  differentiation  and  diversity  are  produced. 

The  second  law  does  not  relate  simply  to  the  action  of 
forces  upon  the  homogeneous,  but  to  the  action  of  the  homo- 
geneous upon  forces.  "  When  a  uniform  aggregate  is  subject 
to  a  uniform  force,  we  have  seen  that  its  constituents,  being 
differently  conditioned,  are  differently  modified.  But  action 
and  reaction  being  equal  and  opposite,  it  follows  that  in  dif- 
ferentiating the  parts  on  which  it  falls  in  unlike  ways,  the 
incident  force  itself  must  be  correspondingly  differentiated. 
Instead  of  being,  as  before,  a  mixed  force,  it  must  thereafter 
be  a  multiform  force,  a  group  of  dissimilar  forces."  2  This 
law  is  called  the  law  of  "  the  multiplication  of  effects." 

"A  single  torce  is  divided  by  conflict  with  matter  into 
forces  that  widely  diverge."  A  very  simple  illustration  will 
make  this  truth  manifest.  "  Take  the  lighting  of  a  candle. 
Primarily,  this  is  a  chemical  change  consequent  on  a  rise  of 
temperature.  The  process  of  combination  having  once  been 
set  going  by  extraneous  heat,  there  is  a  continued  formation 
of  carbonic  acid,  water,  etc.  — in  itself  a  result  more  complex 
than  the  extraneous  heat  which  first  caused  it.  But  along 
with  this  process  of  combination  there  is  a  production  of  heat ; 
there  is  a  production  of  light ;  there  is  an  ascending  column  of 

1  "  First  Principles,"  Herbert  Spencer,  p.  404. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  431. 


HERBERT  SPENCER.  203 

hot  gases  generated ;  there  are  currents  established  in  the 
surrounding  air.  Nor  does  the  decomposition  of  one  force 
into  many  forces  end  here.  Each  of  the  several  changes 
worked  becomes  the  parent  of  further  changes.  .  .  .  The 
heat  given  out  melts  the  adjacent  tallow,  and  expands  whatever 
it  warms.  The  light,  falling  on  various  substances,  calls  forth 
from  them  reactions  by  which  it  is  modified,  and  so  divers 
colours  are  produced.  Similarly  even  with  these  secondary 
actions,  which  may  be  traced  into  ever-multiplying  ramifica- 
tions until  they  become  too  minute  to  be  appreciated."1 

We  have  seen,  then,  how  the  homogeneous  lapses  into  the 
heterogeneous;  but  this  heterogeneous  is  still  vague  and  chaotic. 
How  are  we  to  advance  from  the  indefinite  to  the  definite  ? 
Here  comes  in  the  third  law,  that  of  segregation,  by  which  the 
various  groups  of  units  of  which  the  aggregate  consists  are 
separated  from  each  other,  as  the  wind  in  autumn  picks  out 
the  dying  leaves  from  among  their  still  living  companions,  and 
sweeps  them  together  in  heaps.  When  iron  ore  is  subjected 
to  the  action  of  fire,  the  iron  falls  to  the  bottom,  separating 
itself  from  the  useless  particles.  "  Chemical  affinity,  acting 
differently  on  the  components  of  a  given  body,  enables  us 
to  take  away  some  components  and  leave  the  rest  behind."  2 
Such  a  process  of  separation  and  selection  is  constantly  going 
on  in  nature. 

These  three  laws  explain  to  us  the  varieties  of  races  and 
species,  and  account  for  that  principle  of  differentiation  in  nature 
which  is  the  very  principle  of  progress.  The  organic  world  is 
no  less  subject  to  these  laws  than  the  inorganic,  only  they  are 
modified  so  as  to  conform  to  the  conditions  of  existence ;  or 
rather,  they  constitute  those  conditions.  The  law  of  segrega- 
tion becomes  the  law  of  natural  selection,  as  formulated  by 
Darwin.  It  is  this  which  differentiates  the  various  kingdoms, 
classes,  and  species,  always  giving  the  preponderance  to  the 

1  "  First  Principles,"  Herbert  Spencer,  p.  433. 
1  Ibid.,  pp.  460,  461. 


204  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

fittest.  Natural  selection  is  the  segregation  of  living  organisms 
effected  by  themselves  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  Two 
other  laws  explain  their  preservation  and  progress  :  First — The 
law  of  co-ordination  or  integration,  which  establishes  harmony 
between  the  differentiated  elements  of  which  the  living 
organism  is  composed,  and  forms  them  into  a  well-compacted 
whole.  Second. — The  law  of  adaptation  to  environment,  with- 
out which  the  law  of  natural  filiation  could  not  produce  any 
lasting  structural  modification.  By  the  operation  of  these  laws 
the  living  organism  arrives  at  the  moving  equilibrium,  which  is 
quite  distinct  from  the  motionless  equilibrium  of  the  inorganic 
world.  This  equilibrium  is  twofold ;  for  the  organised  existence 
needs  to  be  brought  into  equilibrium,  first  with  itself,  and 
then  with  its  changing  environment  The  former  equilibrium 
is  effected  by  the  law  of  co-ordination :  the  latter  by  that  of 
adaptation  to  environment  But  whether  direct  or  indirect, 
equilibrium  is  not  the  final  term  of  motion,  since  the  law  of 
rhythm,  which  demands  that  dissolution  should  follow  evolu- 
tion, sentences  all  living  things,  with  the  world  in  which  they 
exist,  to  be  dissolved,  to  give  place  to  a  new  progression,  which 
in  its  turn  must  be  absorbed  into  the  chaos  of  dissolution. 

In  tracing  the  operation  of  these  two  laws  of  co-ordination 
and  adaptation,  Herbert  Spencer  makes  large  use  of  the  Dar- 
winian theories,  which  he  is  careful  to  connect  with  the  first 
principle  which  underlies  the  whole  of  his  explanation.  He- 
redity plays  an  important  part  in  his  system ;  it  is  the  means 
of  transmitting  the  progress  achieved  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence, and  modifies  not  only  the  instincts  but  also  the  physical 
organism. 

In  order  to  give  more  clearness  to  this  exposition,  made  so 
graphic  by  Herbert  Spencer,  let  us  take  one  of  the  animal 
species  with  which  we  are  familiar.  We  leave  to  the  anthro- 
pologist all  that  relates  to  man  himself.  Let  us  only  attempt 
rapidly  to  trace  the  evolutions  by  which  we  derive  from  the 
primordial  homogeneous  the  mammalia— the  highest  form  of 


HERBERT  SPENCER.  205 

animal  organisation.  Like  all  other  organised  existences,  this 
formed  part  of  the  primary  homogeneous,  in  which  all  was 
indeterminate,  because  there  was  no  such  thing  as  concentra- 
tion; and  motion,  like  a  strong  wind,  agitating  the  molecules, 
made  it  impossible  for  them  to  come  together.  When  once  the 
heterogeneous  had  been  evolved  from  the  homogeneous, 
according  to  the  laws  indicated,  there  were  formed  masses, 
groups  of  matter,  which  became  concentrated  and  co-ordinated. 
These  were  subject  to  forces  which  became  separated  and 
refracted  as  they  fell  on  to  the  unlike  units  of  this  still  formless 
whole,  and  hence  arose  new  modifications  which  then  go  on  in- 
creasing indefinitely.  The  law  of  segregration  gathers  into  groups 
the  units  which  resemble  each  other.  The  first  living  organism 
that  appears  is  very  slightly,  imperfectly  defined,  as  we  see  in 
the  zoophytes,  which  are  at  the  bottom  of  the  scale  of  animal 
life.  Differentiation  goes  on  under  the  action  of  the  law  of 
segregation,  which  becomes  the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest. 
Living  organisms  become  more  and  more  fully  developed  ;  and 
their  progress  is  transmitted  by  the  law  of  heredity.  Every 
new  step  in  the  scale  is  won  t?y  the  victory  of  the  strong 
over  the  weak.  The  law  of  adaptation  provides  for  the  safety 
of  the  animal  economy  under  the  new  and  improved  con- 
ditions ;  there  is  a  constant  co-ordination  going  on  among  the 
organs.  Changes  of  environment  in  their  turn  aid  in  the  work 
of  differentiation,  that  is,  of  progress ;  the  law  of  adaptation 
or  of  adjustment  prevents  their  exercising  a  destructive  in- 
fluence. We  are  thus  brought  up  to  existing  mammalia;  social 
life  among  them  is  still  in  a  rudimentary  state :  it  will  advance 
under  the  influence  of  the  law  of  specification,  which  implies  a 
division  of  labour  both  between  the  various  parts  of  the  same 
organism  and  the  members  of  the  same  social  aggregate, 
whether  animal  or  human.  The  last  stage  of  evolution  lies 
still  beyond  us ;  when  it  shall  have  been  reached,  the  era  of 
dissolution  will  begin.  All  things  will  relapse  into  the  prime- 
val chaos ;  the  predominance  of  the  repulsive  forces  will 


206  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

scatter  to  the  winds  all  that  concentrated  wealth  of  various 
life,  which  is  but  an  ephemeral  gleam  of  light  in  the  ever- 
recurring  cycles  of  evolution  and  dissolution.1 

Such  is  this  system,  the  conception  of  so  masterly  a  mind. 
We  must  not,  however,  allow  ourselves  to  be  blinded  by  its  per- 
vading unity  to  its  real  inadequacy.  We  need  not  dwell  upon 
its  primary  inconsistency,  because  we  have  already  spoken  of 
this  in  treating  of  the  problem  of  knowledge.  The  axiom  of 
the  persistence  of  force,  which,  as  an  axiom,  does  not  admit  of 
proof,  is  out  of  place  in  a  philosophy  which  excludes  the 
&  priori  altogether.  And  yet,  through  the  ingenious  deductions 
of  Herbert  Spencer,  it  becomes  the  universal  key,  the  complete 
explanation  of  the  origin  and  development  of  things.  We  ask 
once  again,  how  any  place  whatever  can  be  allowed  to  that 
great  unknowable  which  Herbert  Spencer  admits,  that  final  x 
which  is  but  the  name  of  the  absolute. 

If  everything  is  to  be  explained  on  mechanical  principles,  it 
must  be  absurd  still  to  speak  of  the  unknowable-  and  the 
absolute ;  and  yet,  according  to  Spencer,  we  cannot  think  of 
the  relative  without,  by  that-  very  fact,  recognising  the  idea 
of  the  absolute. 

To  pass  on.  There  is  another  objection  to  which  Herbert 
Spencer  will  find  it  difficult  to  reply.  He  has  no  account  to 
give  of  the  first  transition  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  hetero- 
geneous. At  the  starting-point  of  evolution,  the  homogeneous 
alone  exists ;  it  has  neither  within  nor  without,  nor  any  differen- 
tiated parts,  else  it  would  not  be  the  primordial  homogeneous ; 
we  should  then  have  to  go  still  further  back,  and  the  diffi- 
culty would  only  be  removed  another  stage.  It  follows,  that 
all  that  we  are  told,  whether  of  the  various  ways  in  which 
the  parts  of  the  whole  are  affected  by  the  force  which  comes 
into  contact  with  them,  or  of  the  reaction  of  the  various  parts 
upon  this  force  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  the  multiplied? 

1  The  foregoing  pages  are  a  brief  resume  of  Herbert  Spencer's  "First 
Principles." 


HERBERT  SPENCER.  207 

tion  of  effects,  has  no  meaning  so  far  as  the  period  of  universal 
indetermination  is  concerned,  since  in  it  there  are  no  parts  and 
no  whole,  but  simply  the  pure  homogeneous.  How  can  we 
make  a  distinction  between  this  confused  mass  and  the  forces 
operating  upon  it  ?  Herbert  Spencer  has  then  no  plausible 
explanation  of  the  beginning  of  evolution.1 

If  we  pass  on  to  the  principle  of  universal  evolution  itself, 
which  is  purely  and  simply  the  transformation  of  force  ac- 
cording to  mechanical  laws,  we  object  to  Herbert  Spencer  that 
the  living  organism,  such  as  he  represents  it,  in  order  to  reduce 
it  to  a  piece  of  pure  mechanism,  does  not  correspond  to  the 
fulness  and  variety  of  life,  and  that  in  this  state  of  abstraction 
and  generality,  the  entity  is  indistinguishable  from  the  non- 
entity. The  author  of  "First  Principles"  obviously  confines 
himself  to  the  category  of  quantity,  without  giving  any  place 
to  that  of  quality,  that  is,  to  the  formal  or  formative  cause  of 
Aristotle,  which  alone  differentiates,  specialises,  and  realises 
living  existence.  The  mechanism  which  suffices  for  quantity 
gives  no  adequate  reason  for  the  quality,  without  which  there 
is  no  element  of  differentiation  among  living  organisms,  and 
consequently  no  evolution.  We  can  only  refer  to  the  remarks 
already  made  on  this  subject.  In  any  case,  there  is  one  thing 
which  Herbert  Spencer  cannot  explain,  namely,  the  transition 
from  the  inorganic  to  the  organic  world,  the  production  first  of 
life,  and  then  of  thought  and  of  consciousness,  which  he  treats 
as  merely  transformations  of  motion. 

Like  all  the  evolutionists,  he  is  caught  on  the  horn  of  this 
dilemma,  which  we  cannot  allow  him  to  escape.  Either 
the  development  of  the  living  organism,  when  it  passes  to  a 
new  stage,  comes  from  some  cause  higher  than  itself,  or  this 
capacity  of  development  was  latent  in  it  virtually  and  po- 
tentially ;  and,  if  so,  we  must  recognise  in  it  something 
more  than  force  transformed.  We  are  bound,  in  that  case,  to 
admit  a  higher  principle,  which  develops  itself  under  favourable 
1  "Les  Causes  Finales,"  Tanet,  Appendix,  p.  70. 


208  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

conditions,  though  these  conditions  were  not  capable  of  pro- 
ducing it,  for  it  cannot  resolve  itself  into  these  conditions  as  a 
whole  into  its  parts ;  it  is  something  more  and  other  than 
they. 

If  we  now  consider  the  laws  which  govern  the  development 
of  the  living  organism,  without  reverting  to  the  objections  already 
made  to  Darwinism,  none  of  these  laws  is  to  be  explained  apart 
from  design.  Natural  selection,  we  are  told,  is  to  carry  on  its 
selective  work  in  the  organic  world,  assuring  the  survival  of  the 
fittest ;  but  then  it  is  not  this  selection  which  produces  the 
fittest,  since  it  implies  that  these  favoured  organisms  already 
exist.  Whence  come  these  selected  organisms,  without  which 
evolution  could  not  begin  ?  They  do  not  owe  their  fitness  to  a 
natural  selection,  which  cannot  perform  its  office  without  them. 
Their  superiority  must  have  been  constitutional.  The  law  of 
co-ordination  cannot  be  identified  with  the  law  of  segregation  ; 
the  latter  only  groups  together  things  that  are  alike,  while 
organic  co-ordination  makes  dissimilar  elements  concur  in  the 
production  of  one  and  the  same  organ  and  function.  "  The 
problem  to  be  solved,"  says  M.  Janet,  "  is  the  formation  of  a 
unity  out  of  a  multitude  of  divergent  parts,  as  in  the  phe- 
nomenon of  vision.  The  eye  is  the  unity  of  a  multitude  of 
quite  distinct  component  parts.  Here  is  something  more  than 
mere  mechanical  construction;  here  is  intelligent  co-ordina- 
tion in  view  of  an  end."1 

The  theory  of  adaptation  to  environment  does  not  solve  the 
difficulty.  A  change  of  environment  does  not  produce  at  once 
a  change  in  the  organs.  We  have  already  shown  that  if  the 
environment  alone  is  changed,  the  animal,  which  has  not  been 
changed  at  the  same  time,  is  placed  under  disadvantageous 
conditions.  "It  is  needful  that  the  harmony  between  the 
organism  and  the  element  in  which  it  is  to  live  be  prepared,  as 
it  is  in  the  case  of  viviparous  animals.  Their  embryo  begins  to 
be  nourished  by  direct  communication  with  the  mother;  when 
1  "  Les  Causes  Finales,"  Janet,  Appendix,  p.  76. 


HERBERT  SPENCER.  209 

the  communication  ceases  at  a  given  moment,  the  separation 
between  the  two  begins.  In  order  that  the  newly-born  infant 
may  live,  it  is  necessary  that,  even  in  the  embryonic  stage,  it 
shall  have  been  so  modified  as  to  be  able  to  derive  nourishment 
from  the  mother's  breast.  It  would  die  if  it  was  not  endowed 
beforehand  with  an  organ  capable  of  suction.  It  is  evident  that 
in  this  case  the  modification  of  the  organ  preceded  the  change 
of  environment,  and  can  only  be  explained  by  prevision,  by 
design.  Thus,  we  maintain  that  evolution  is  not  self-sufficing, 
either  in  its  initial  stage  or  in  its  developments.  Mechanical 
laws  cannot  explain  either  the  first  impulse  of  motion,  or  the 
production  and  co-ordination  of  life."  l 

The  transformation  of  force  fails  also  to  render  an  account 
of  those  transformations  which  have  no  analogy  with  the 
varieties  of  motion,  namely,  life  and  thought.  We  can  very 
well  understand,  then,  that  in  spite  of  its  admirable  arrange- 
ment, Herbert  Spencer's  system  ends  in  its  own  destruction ; 
for  the  last  term  of  evolution,  according  to  him,  is  a  return  to 
the  primordial  diffusion.  Evolution  which  is  but  the  trans- 
formation of  motion,  has  no  other  end  than  dissolution;  the 
mechanical  system  which  admits  no  element  of  design,  must 
explain  all  by  the  rhythmic  laws  of  repulsion  and  attraction, 
action  and  reaction.  A  world  brought  into  being  without  a 
purpose,  has  no  other  destiny  than  to  be  destroyed.  We 
can  but  ask  why,  in  view  of  such  a  fatal  necessity,  should 
the  world  have  been  so  nicely  adjusted,  regulated,  and  har- 
monised ?  In  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  avoid  it,  Mr.  Spencer 
has  been  forced  to  recognise  design  in  the  universe.  It  meets 
him  on  his  way  ;  but  since  he  would  not  admit  it  at  the 
beginning,  he  cannot  avail  himself  of  it  'at  the  conclusion. 
This  is  the  penalty  of  starting  with  so  strong  a  previous  bias. 
Evolution  is  only  admissible  on  the  theory  that  there  has  been 
a  creation,  for,  apart  from  the  fact  of  creation,  it  has  no  pur- 
pose, and  vanishes  in  the  universal  dissolution.  Creation  does 
1  "  Les  Causes  Finales,"  p.  308. 


210  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

not  imply  a  series  of  sudden  events  and  violent  revolutions. 
The  organism  which  it  calls  into  existence  has  in  itself  poten- 
.  tialities  to  be  developed  under  the  influence  of  efficient  causes, 
without  necessarily  excluding  possible  interventions  of  the 
intelligent  Cause.  This  potential  existence  is  capable  of  a 
gradual  and  rational  development,  the  goal  of  which  is  not 
to  be  annihilation,  but  a  fuller  life.  But,  we  repeat,  nothing 
can  be  found  in  the  final  development  which  was  not  ger- 
minally  present  at  the  beginning;  and  just  as  the  manifold 
evolution  of  life  cannot  take  its  rise  in  a  mere  possibility,  so 
the  potential  existence  points  us  back  to  the  eternal  actuality 
of  Aristotle,  even  to  God  Himself. 

It  seems  as  if  the  great  English  thinker  partially  accepts  on 
this  point  the  spiritualistic  view.  He  says,  when  speaking  of 
the  reconciliation  between  religion  and  science,  "  Very  likely 
there  will  ever  remain  a  need  to  give  shape  to  that  indefinite 
sense  of  an  ultimate  existence,  which  forms  the  basis  of  our 
intelligence." l  In  the  conclusion  of  his  "  First  Principles,"  he 
admits,  as  at  least  a  permissible  hypothesis,  the  possible  ex- 
istence of  an  intelligent  and  conscious  causation,  though  it 
eludes  scientific  research  beneath  the  impenetrable  veil  of 
efficient  and  purely  mechanical  causes.2  We  can  but  ask  why 
in  all  his  later  writings  the  illustrious  author  seems  to  ignore 
this  lofty  intuition,  and,  in  repudiating  the  idea  of  God,  to 
reject  the  only  adequate  explanation  of  the  evidences  of 
design  in  nature. 

H^CKEL. 

We  shall  not  enter  at  any  length  upon  HaeckePs  theories. 
The  ground  he  takes  is  so  purely  scientific  that  only  specialists 
are  competent  to  dispute  it  with  him.  From  a  philosophical 
point  of  view,  he  does  not  argue;  he  speaks  like  an  oracle. 
Darwin  is  his  divinity ;  and,  as  his  prophet  or  apostle,  Hseckel 

1  "First  Principles,1'  p.  113. 

*  Ibid.     See  Summary  and  Conclusion. 


H&CKEL.  211 

pronounces  sentence  of  excommunication  on  all  who  do  not 
swear  in  verba  magistri.  The  standard  by  which  he  measures 
nations  and  individuals  is  their  adherence  to  the  theory  of 
evolution.  Hseckel  has  given  it  a  new  name \  he  calls  it 
monism,  to  indicate  from  the  outset  that  he  recognises  only 
one  principle  of  things,  the  materialistic  or  mechanical  prin- 
ciple. He  brings  to  bear  on  his  subject  a  vast  accumulation 
of  knowledge  and  a  singular  clearness  of  exposition.  The 
following  passage  may  serve  as  an  example  of  the  boldness  of 
his  affirmations  :  "  We  shall  see  in  the  course  of  our  inquiries 
how,  through  Darwin's  reform  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution, 
the  most  wonderful  problems,  hitherto  deemed  unapproach- 
able, of  the  organisation  of  man  and  animals,  have  admitted 
of  a  natural  solution,  of  a  mechanical  explanation  by  non- 
purposive  causes.  It  has  enabled  as  to  substitute  everywhere 
unconscious  causes  acting  from  necessity  for  conscious  pur- 
posive causes.  If  the  recent  progress  in  the  doctrine  of 
evolution  had  accomplished  only  this,  every  thoughtful  person 
must  have  admitted  that  even  in  this  an  immense  advance 
had  been  made  in  knowledge.  In  consequence  of  it,  the 
tendency  called  unitary  or  monistic,  in  contradistinction  to  the 
dualistic  or  binary,  which  has  hitherto  prevailed  in  speculative 
philosophy,  must  ultimately  prevail  throughout  philosophy." 1 

The  banner  of  the  crusade  is  thus  fully  unfurled ;  but,  as  in 
most  crusades,  the  champion  brings  to  his  cause  more  of  faith 
and  enthusiasm  than  vigorous  demonstration.  He  is  certainly 
not  deficient  in  science;  he  enumerates  a  multitude  of  well- 
observed,  carefully  classified  and  lucidly  stated  facts,  but  he 
often  evades  the  rigorous  laws  of  scientific  reasoning,  and  on 
the  most  important  points  sometimes  contents  himself  with 
hypotheses.  He  weaves  hypothesis  into  the  chain  of  his 
argument,  and  draws  deductions  from  it  as  though  it  were 
certain  and  demonstrated  fact.  He,  of  course,  accepts,  with- 

1  "The  Evolution  of  Man,"  Ernest  Haeckel.  English  Translation, 
vol.  i.,  p.  17. 


212  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

out  verifying  them  for  himselt,  all  the  results  of  Darwinism 
with  regard  to  natural  selection,  heredity,  and  the  law  of 
adaptation.  We  need  not  repeat  the  arguments  we  have 
already  urged  against  these  assumed  laws  of  nature  and  their 
results.  We  are  free  to  admit,  however,  that  Hseckel  has 
worked  out  with  rare  power  and  fulness  of  information  what 
seems  to  us  one  of  the  strongest  proofs  of  the  theory  of  evo- 
lution, though  utterly  inconclusive  as  an  argument  for  the 
monistic  or  mechanical  theory  of  the  universe.  We  refer  to 
the  evidence  supplied  by  embryology.  According  to  Haeckel, 
the  embryo  passes  through  all  the  stages  of  the  general  evo- 
lution of  animal  forms.  He  says  :  "  The  entire  process  of 
the  evolution  of  the  individual  presents  to  the  eye  a  con- 
nected series  of  diverse  animal  forms ;  and  these  various 
animal  forms  exhibit  very  diverse  conditions  of  external  and 
internal  structure."1  "At  a  certain  period  the  embryo  has 
essentially  the  anatomical  structure  of  a  lancelet,  later  of  a  fish, 
and  in  subsequent  stages,  those  of  amphibian  and  mammalian 
forms ;  and  in  the  further  evolutions  of  these  mammalian 
forms  those  first  appear  which  stand  lowest  in  the  series, 
namely,  forms  allied  to  the  beaked  animals ;  then  those 
allied  to  pouched  animals,  which  are  followed  by  forms  most 
resembling  apes."  2  Dumont  observes  that  "  this  order  is  the 
same  as  that  in  which  the  succession  of  diverse  animal  forms 
is  revealed  to  us  by  the  palaeontological  history  of  the  earth.3 
We  do  not  dispute  the  significance  of  this  argument  in  support 
of  the  theory  of  evolution ;  but  it  is  certainly  insufficient  to 
decide  the  question  of  the  transformation  of  species  on  Dar- 
winian principles.  It  rather  tends  to  favour  Naudin's  theory 
of  evolution,"  which  admits,  as  we  have  seen,  a  variable  period 
of  plasticity  within  certain  limits.  In  any  case  the  fact  that 
we  can  closely  trace  in  the  embryo,  as  in  a  living  epitome, 

1  "The  Evolution  of  Man,"  Ernest  Haeckel,  vol.  i,  p.  17. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  3. 

8  "  Haeckel  et  la  Theorie  de  1'Evolution  en  Allemagne."    Dumont. 


H&CKEL.  213 

the  regular  progression  of  animal  forms  from  the  lowest  to 
the  highest,  is  no  argument  for  the  absence  of  design.  This 
gradual  development  implies  a  principle,  a  germ,  a  poten- 
tiality including  the  whole  series,  and  this  brings  us  again  to 
the  potential  existence  which  no  mechanical  theory  has  ever 
availed  to  explain.  We  may  add,  that  the  life  of  the  embryo 
gives  us  no  indication  of  the  manifestation  of  the  higher  life, 
the  life  of  the  mind,  nor  even  of  that  of  sensation,  and  no 
bridge  is  thrown  over  the  great  gulf  between  the  physical  and 
the  moral. 

Haeckel  is  not  stumbled  by  such  slight  difficulties  as  these. 
He  has  not  even  attempted  to  show  how  this  passageis  effected. 
He  has  not  touched  any  of  the  problems  of  psychology,  which, 
in  fact,  he  ignores  altogether.  He  is  satisfied  with  setting  up 
the  genealogical  tree  of  organised  life,  starting  from  the  first 
living  cell,  from  that  moneron  discovered  by  him, — "a  body 
without  definite  form,  a  mere  particle  of  primitive  slime,  a  little 
mass  of  living  albumen,  performing  all  the  essential  functions 
of  life,  and  everywhere  met  with  as  the  material  basis  of  life." l 
From  this  simple  protoplasm  existing  in  the  depths  of  the  sea, 
universal  life  is  derived  by  a  process  far  from  complicated,  for 
it  consists  at  first  in  a  simple  separation  of  the  moneron  into 
two  parts.  "  The  first  and  oldest  process  of  organic  differen- 
tiation, which  affected  the  homogeneous  and  structureless  plas- 
son  body  of  the  monera,  caused  the  separation  of  the  latter 
into  two  different  substances;  an  inner  firmer  substance,  the 
kernel,  or  nucleus,  and  an  outer  softer  substance,  the  cell-sub- 
stance, vt protoplasms.  By  this  extremely  important  separative 
process,  the  organised  cell  originated  from  the  structureless 
cytoid."2  This  process  is  continued  by  subdivision  till  a 
grouping  of  cells  is  the  result.  These  cells  form  a  sort  of 
republic  in  which  the  various  parts  combine  to  form  a  well- 
ordered  whole,  a  true  organism.  All  this  appears  to  the  eager 

1  "The  Evolution  of  Man,"  Ernst  Haeckel,  vol.  iv.,  pp.  30,  31. 
1  Ibid.,  p.  50. 


214  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

naturalist  as  clear  as  day.  This  republic  of  blind  elements 
agreeing  together  to  produce  the  most  perfect  harmony,  pre- 
sents no  difficulty  to  his  mind ;  as  though  combination  and 
co-operation  were  possible  in  the  absence  of  anything  like  an 
intelligent  or  governing  principle.  We  have  never  found  human 
society  established  on  a  well-organised  basis,  till  some  degree 
of  culture  has  been  attained.  The  primitive  cells,  happier 
though  less  privileged,  since  every  gleam  of  reason  is  denied 
them,  realise  at  once  a  perfect  organisation,  which  needs  only 
to  be  developed  in  order  to  give  the  higher  life.  But  what 
power,  we  ask,  gave  the  first  impulse  to  evolution  ?  What  led 
the  cell  to  divide  and  subdivide,  to  combine  in  groups  and  to 
organise  itself?  None  of 'the  later  laws  of  evolution,  neither 
the  struggle  for  existence  nor  the  law  of  adaptation,  can  be 
applied  in  this  single  formless  cell.  And  yet  it  is  the  basis  of 
all.  If  we  are  told  that  it  so  divides  because  it  has  been 
increased  by  alimentation,  then  a  simple  accession  of  matter 
accounts  for  all,  and  we  wonder  why  that  which  sufficed  to 
give  the  first  impulse  should  have  been  inadequate  to  produce 
any  ulterior  development  Moreover,  the  augmentation  of 
matter  in  no  way  implies  division,  still  less  orderly  subdivision 
and  grouping.  If  we  consider  development  itself,  the  scale  of 
evolution  as  given  us  by  Haeckel,  we  must  acknowledge  that, 
by  his  own  admission,  more  than  one  round  of  the  ladder  is 
wanting.  We  draw  attention  specially  to  his  admission  that 
the  immediate  ancestor  of  man  has  not  been  discovered. 
Haeckel  predicts  that  he  will  be  found,  but  this  is  mere  sup- 
position. The  chain  is  none  the  less  broken  in  one  of  its 
most  essential  links. 

That  which  appears  to  us  a  still  graver  difficulty,  is  that  this 
chain  begins  in  nothingness,  for  Hseckel  is  obliged  to  content 
himself  with  a  purely  gratuitous  hypothesis  as  to  the  origin  of 
life.  Spontaneous  generation  is  a  mystery  enacted  in  the 
depths  of  ocean,  by  means  of  unknown  chemical  combinations. 
It  asks  of  us,  therefore,  an  implicit  act  of  faith.  The  words 


H&CKEL.  215 

of  the  author  of  the  "  Evolution  of  Man  "  bring  this  home  to 
us  very  strongly.  He  says :  "  The  one-celled  condition  in 
which  each  man  begins  his  existence  as  a  simple  parent-cell  or 
cytula  justifies  us  in  affirming  that  the  oldest  ancestors  of  the 
human  race  (as  of  the  whole  animal  kingdom)  were  simple 
amoeboid  cells."  Here  arises  another  question  :  "  Whence,  in 
the  beginning  of  the  organic  history  of  the  earth,  came  the 
earliest  amoebae  ?  "  To  this  there  is  but  one  reply.  "  Like  all 
one-celled  organisms,  the  amoebae  have  originally  developed 
only  from  the  simplest  organisms  known  to  us— the  monera. 
These  monera,  which  we  have  already  described,  are  also  the 
simplest  conceivable  organisms.  Their  body  has  no  definite 
form,  and  is  but  a  particle  of  primitive  slime  (plasson),  a  little 
mass  of  living  albumen,  performing  all  the  essential  functions 
of  life,  and  everywhere  met  with  as  the  material  basis  of  life. 
This  brings  us  to  the  last,  or  perhaps  the  first,  question  in  the 
history  of  evolution — the  question  as  to  the  origin  of  the  mon- 
era; and  this  is  the  momentous  question  as  to  the  prime 
origin  of  life — the  question  of  spontaneous  generation,  genera- 
tio  spontanea  or  aquivoca.  ...  In  the  definite,  limited 
sense  in  which  I  maintain  spontaneous  generation,  and  assume 
it  as  a  necessary  hypothesis  in  explanation  of  the  first  beginning 
of  life  upon  the  earth,  it  merely  implies  the  origin  of  monera 
from  inorganic  carbon  compounds.  When  animated  bodies 
first  appeared  on  our  planet,  previously  without  life,  there  must, 
in  the  first  place,  have  been  formed,  by  a  process  purely  che- 
mical, from  purely  inorganic  carbon  combinations,  that  very 
complex  nitrogenised  carbon  compound  which  we  call  plasson, 
or  'primitive  slime/  and  which  is  the  oldest  material  sub- 
stance in  which  all  vital  activities  are  embodied.  In  the  lowest 
depths  of  the  sea  such  homogeneous  amorphous  protoplasm 
probably  still  lives  in  its  simplest  character,  under  the  name  of 
bathybius.  Each  individual  living  particle  of  this  structureless 
mass  is  called  a  moneron.  The  oldest  monera  originated  in 
the  sea  by  spontaneous  generation,  just  as  crystals  form  in  the 


2i6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

mother-liquor.  This  assumption  is  required  by  the  demand  of 
the  human  understanding  for  causation.  For  when,  on  the  one 
hand,  we  reflect  that  the  whole  inorganic  history  of  the  earth 
proceeds  in  accordance  with  mechanical  laws  and  without  any 
intervention  by  creative  power,  and  when,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  consider  that  the  entire  organic  history  of  the  world  is 
also  determined  by  similar  mechanical  laws;  when  we  see  that 
no  supernatural  interference  by  a  creative  power  is  needed  for 
the  production  of  the  various  organisms,  then  it  is  certainly 
quite  inconsistent  to  assume  such  supernatural  creative  inter- 
ference for  the  first  production  of  life  upon  our  globe.  At  all 
events  we,  as  investigators  of  nature,  are  bound  at  least  to 
attempt  a  natural  explanation.  .  .  .  The  doctrine  of  spon- 
taneous generation  cannot  be  experimentally  refuted.  For 
each  experiment  with  a  negative  result  merely  proves  that 
under  the  conditions  (always  very  artificial)  supplied  by  us,  no 
organism  has  been  produced  from  inorganic  combinations. 
Neither  can  the  theory  of  spontaneous  generation  be  experi- 
mentally proved,  unless  great  difficulties  are  overcome.  .  .  . 
He,  however,  who  does  not  assume  a  spontaneous  generation 
of  monera,  in  the  sense  here  indicated,  to  explain  the  first 
origin  of  life  upon  our  earth,  has  no  other  resource  but  to 
believe  in  a  supernatural  miracle."  l 

We  are  thus  required  to  accept  a  postulate  based  purely 
upon  a  strong  prejudice.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more 
decisive  argument  against  a  system  which  is  constrained  to 
accept  a  gratuitous  hypothesis,  because  of  its  author's  precon- 
ceived ideas.  Rigorous  science,  which  is  always  averse  to 
preconceptions,  has  pronounced  with  just  severity  against  this 
convenient  mode  of  argument,  by  the  mouth  of  one  of  its  most 
illustrious  and  freest  thinkers,  whom  no  one  will  accuse  of  being 
a  partisan  of  Christian  spiritualism.  In  the  congress  of  German 
Naturalists,  held  in  Munich  in  1876,  M.  Virchow  objected  to 
the  demand  made  by  Hseckel  that  the  theory  of  transforma- 
1  "Evolution  of  Man,"  Ernst  Haeckel,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  30-32. 


H&CKEL.  217 

tion  should  be  introduced  into  the  teaching  of  primary  schools. 
He  said :  "  With  Darwinism,  the  theory  of  spontaneous  genera- 
tion has  again  been  brought  to  the  front.  I  fully  admit  that 
the  temptation  is  strong  to  add  this  crowning  stone  to  the 
theory  of  man's  descent.  There  is  something  satisfactory  in 
being  able  to  admit  that  a  certain  favoured  group  of  atoms. 
Carbon  and  Co.,  were  at  a  given  moment,  and  under  certain 
circumstances,  separated  from  ordinary  coal  and  gave  birth 
to  the  primitive  plasson,  and  that  the  same  process  is  being 
repeated  to-day.  It  is  true  no  one  can  adduce  a  single  positive 
fact  in  evidence  thafsuch  spontaneous  generation  ever  took 
place,  and  that  an  inorganic  mass,  even  of  this  firm  of  Carbon 
and  Co.,  was  ever  transformed  into  an  organic  mass.  Never- 
theless, I  admit  that  if  we  propose  to  imagine  to  ourselves  how 
the  first  organic  being  could  have  originated,  there  is  no  alter- 
native but  spontaneous  generation,  unless  we  recur  to  creation. 
Tertium  non  datur.  But  spontaneous  generation  is  not  demon- 
strated, and  we  shall  be  wise  to  wait  for  its  demonstration. 
We  remember  how  lamentably  all  attempts  have  failed  to  find 
a  place  for  it  in  tracing  the  passage  of  the  most  elementary 
forms  from  the  inorganic  to  the  organic  kingdom.  Haeckel 
will  never  be  able  to  explain  to  us  how,  from  the  midst  of  this 
inorganic  world,  in  which  nothing  changes,  life  can  come  forth. 
The  lapse  of  countless  ages  makes  no  change  in  mechanical 
laws.  And  if  we  go  back  to  the  periods  of  incandescence 
in  the  history  of  our  planet,  we  may  fairly  be  reminded  that 
intense  heat  is  far  more  destructive  than  productive  of  life."1 

Let  us  recognise  with  Virchow,  that  there  is  nothing  like  life 
but  life  itself;  that  nature  is  twofold,  and  that,  though  formed 
of  atoms  of  the  same  sort,  organic  matter  presents  a  con- 
tinuous series  of  phenomena  essentially  differing  in  character 
from  those  of  the  inorganic  world. 

Hseckel  has  not  made  his  materialistic  theory  of  trans- 
formation any  more  plausible  by  heralding  it  with  a  blast  of 
i  "  Revue  Scientifique,"  December  8th,  1877. 


218  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

trumpets.  He  has  found  his  way  stopped  by  the  impassable 
barriers  of  life  and  mind ;  and  if  he  has  circumvented  them 
with  singular  adroitness,  he  has  not  removed  the  obstacle  stand- 
ing directly  in  the  way.  It  has  still  to  be  encountered  by  all 
true  scientists  who  are  not  prepared  to  accept  with  a  blind 
credulity  worthy  of  the  veriest  devotee,  a  gratuitous  hypothesis 
as  the  basis  of  their  system.1 

1  The  question  of  the  origin  of  organised  life  has  been  carried  still 
further  by  M.  Perrier  in  his  learned  work,  "  Les  Colonies  Animales  et  la 
Formation  des  Organismes  "  (Ed mond  Perrier,  Professor  to  the  Natural 
History  Museum,  Paris).  He  justly  observes  that  the  infinitesimally 
minute  creatures,  which  are  said  by  the  transformation  theory  to  be  pro- 
duced by  spontaneous  generation,  exhibit  life  already  in  a  state  of  develop- 
ment. In  order  to  arrive  at  its  first  manifestation  we  must  go  as  far  back 
as  the  protoplasm  which  is  their  physical  basis.  Now,  according  to  M. 
Perrier,  it  is  impossible  to  separate  this  protoplasm  from  inorganic  matter. 
He  says  :  "All  attempts  fail  to  connect  this  protoplasm  with  any  of  the 
categories  into  which  physical  science  divides  bodies,  it  is  neither  a  solid 
nor  a  liquid."  The  protoplasm  resembles  the  albuminoids,  its  mean 
chemical  composition  is  carbon,  hydrogen,  nitrogen,  oxygen,  with  a  small 
quantity  of  sulphur  and  other  mineral  substances.  It  has  been  found  as  im- 
possible to  reproduce  it  as  to  reproduce  albumen,  from  which,  however,  it 
differs  totally.  Not  only  does  the  protoplasm  differ  from  all  chemical  com- 
pounds by  uninterrupted  changes  of  composition,  but  also  by  the  fact  that 
none  of  the  material  atoms  present  in  it  at  the  moment  when  it  can  be  taken 
and  analysed  (atoms  which  constitute  the  very  essence  of  the  chemical  com- 
pound) are  destined  to  remain  in  it.  The  chemical  compound  is  charac- 
terised by  its  component  substances,  protoplasm  by  motion.  Life  is  added 
and  superposed  to  affinity  and  to  the  physical  agents,so  as  to  produce,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  physico-chemical  phenomena,  others  proper  to  itself  which  are 
essentially  phenomena  of  motion.  It  is  idle  to  assume,  as  Haeckel  does,  that 
the  history  of  life  is  only  one  particular  chapter  of  the  history  of  carbon. 

If  all  the  chemical  substances  believed  to  enter  into  the  composition  of  a 
given  protoplasm  were  brought  together  and  combined,  so  as  to  form  a 
product  chemically  identical  with  it,  it  would  yet  be  necessary  to  impart 
to  the  molecules  thus  compounded  those  complicated  motions  which 
characterise  life,  and  which  lead  to  a  perpetual  assimilation  and  consequent 
dissimilation,  unknown  to  chemistry  ("  Colonies  Animales,"  pp.  34-39). 
M.  Perrier  does  not  stop  at  this  primary  difference  between  protoplasm 
and  a  chemical  compound.  He  defines  with  great  distinctness  the 
characteristics  peculiar  to  the  latter.  "Nutrition,"  he  says,  " distinguishes 


HEGEL.  219 


III.  HEGEL'S  THEORY  OF  IMMANENCE. 

After  the  school  which  denies  design  altogether,  we  come 
to  that  which  admits  it  but  in  a  very  imperfect  form,  as 
deprived  of  consciousness.  This  is  the  school  of  unconscious 
and  consequently  impersonal  adaptation.  This  school  teaches 
that  nature  is  not  to  be  explained  by  mechanical  laws  ;  it  obeys 
a  principle  of  adaptation  by  which  it  is  disposed  with  a  view 
to  certain  special  and  general  ends,  but  this  adaptation  is  not 
to  be  traced  back  to  an  intelligent  and  powerful  Cause,  which 
conceived  the  plan  so  marvellously  carried  out  before  our 
eyes.  This  plan  is  realised  by  virtue  of  an  immanent  internal 
principle  of  adaptation.  Here  the  school  divides  into  two  great 

the  living  substance  from  the  mineral.  The  crystal  only  attracts  to  itself 
molecules  possessing  its  own  chemical  composition,  the  protoplasm  absorbs 
substances  of  variable  composition,  decomposes  them,  assimilates  some  of 
their  parts  and  rejects  others.  Protoplasm  is  subject  to  an  internal  motion 
which  never  stops."  M.  Perrier  recognises,  like  Claude  Bernard,  a  direct- 
ing idea  which  impresses  diverse  forms  upon  the  products  of  protoplasm. 
"  It  possesses  also,"  he  says,  "  the  power  to  evolve  various  forms.  There 
are  then  in  it  hidden  springs,  for  neither  the  separate  atoms  nor  their  com- 
binations are  capable  of  evolution"  (Ibid.,  pp.  40,  41).  Lastly,  while  the 
crystal  is  capable  of  indefinite  accretion,  protoplasm  exists  only  in  an 
individual  state,  and  is  of  limited  size.  Protoplasm  reproduces  itself  by 
dividing,  it  constitutes  therefore  a  class  of  substance  altogether  apart.  The 
corpse  supplies  us  with  the  final  illustration  of  the  distinction  between  the 
inorganic  and  the  living  body,  for  it  possesses  all  the  chemical  elements 
of  composition  which  are  in  the  living  being,  and  yet  it  has  not  life.  M. 
Perrier  attempts,  indeed,  to  give  us  an  explanation  of  the  origin  of  life. 
He  makes  it  spring  forth  from  the  vortices  of  that  mysterious  element  called 
ether,  the  last  term  of  substance  as  it  passes  into  motion,  but  he  himself 
admits  that  this  is  only  a  hypothesis,  and  he  regards  it  as  in  no  way  exclusive 
of  an  intelligent  First  Cause.  "The  physicist  in  his  laboratory,"  he  says, 
"can  only  conceive  of  the  Deity  as  presiding  from  all  eternity  over  the 
existence  of  matter  and  of  motion,  of  which  He  is  Himself  the  first  cause, 
and  as  directing  the  operation  of  those  laws  which  govern  the  succession  of 
phenomena."  We  have  already  seen  that  this  eminent  naturalist  admits 
design  by  his  theory  of  hidden  springs  in  protoplasm. 


220  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

branches,  of  which  one  tends  to  optimism,  the  other  to  pes- 
simism. Hegelian  metaphysics  belongs  to  the  former  branch. 
The  immanent  principle  of  adaptation  leads,  according  to  its 
teaching,  to  glorious  results.  Its  final  term  is  the  Absolute 
Spirit ;  towards  him  it  has  been  ever  tending,  it  is  his  thoughts 
in  logical  sequence  which  it  has  been  unfolding  in  the  endless 
succession  of  things ;  it  is  these  which  it  externalised  in  some 
sort  in  nature  and  brought  into  ideal  and  conscious  life  in  the 
mind  of  man,  the  bright  mirror  in  which,  after  his  diffusion,  the 
Absolute  Spirit  beholds  himself.  God  becomes,  God  fashions, 
differentiates,  apprehends  himself,  reveals  himself  to  himself 
step  by  step  till  he  manifests  himself  as  the  Spirit,  as  the  last 
term  of  that  vast  and  ceaseless  development  which  is  ever 
recommencing.  So  far  from  its  being  he  who  in  the  beginning 
of  things  conceived  the  plan  of  the  universe  with  its  admirable 
co-ordination,  everything  is  derived  from  an  elementary  entity 
so  abstracted  and  denuded  that  it  is  called  the  Not-being. 
The  principle  of  adaptation  which  directs  the  universal  develop- 
ment, and  which  is  so  completely  subject  to  the  laws  of  logic 
that  it  can  be  deduced  from  reason  as  a  series  of  closely  con- 
nected theorems,  is  immanent  in  things.  It  has  no  cognisance 
of  itself  until  its  last  term,  the  climax  of  its  development,  in  the 
Spirit  which  disengages  itself  from  the  externalisation  to  which 
it  has  been  subjected  in  nature.  Nature  is  its  realised  thought 
but  without  consciousness  or  will,  for  immanence  thus  under- 
stood, excluding  all  that  is  transcendent,  does  not  place  the 
world,  with  reference  to  God,  in  the  relation  of  effect  to  cause, 
but  makes  God  the  effect  of  the  world,  the  resultant  of  all 
the  antecedent  progression.  The  world  has  obeyed  a  blind 
impulse,  which  yet  had  reason  in  it,  since  it  has  made  every- 
thing work  together  towards  a  supreme  end. 

After  exerting  a  great  influence  on  the  thought  of  the  age  at 
the  commencement  of  the  century,  Hegelianism  is  become  in 
our  day  all  but  completely  obsolete.  Although,  in  our  opinion, 
it  is  infinitely  superior  in  the  boldness  of  its  metaphysical 


HEGEL.  221 

system  to  the  gross  materialism  of  the  day,  it  has  so  little  in- 
fluence now  on  thought  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  a 
prolonged  discussion  of  it.  The  only  point  on  which  it  might 
be  worth  while  to  dwell,  because  it  is  one  which  has  been  taken 
up  by  some  schools  exerting  a  great  influence  in  our  own  time, 
is  that  of  adaptation  as  immanent  in  nature,  as  opposed  to  a 
transcendent  purposive  cause.  Things,  we  are  told,  would 
fulfil  their  proper  purpose  without  any  intelligent  cause  above 
or  prior  to  them,  to  foresee,  to  combine,  to  adapt  means  to  ends- 
Let  us  observe,  first  of  all,  that  we  must  be  on  our  guard 
against  establishing  an  absolute  opposition  between  transcendent 
and  immanent  adaptation.  It  is  by  no  means  necessary  that 
the  intelligent  and  poweful  Cause  by  which  the  world  was 
conceived  and  organised,  should  be  always  acting  upon  it  from 
without  by  miraculous  interventions.  It  may  well  have  given 
it  so  perfect  an  organisation  that  it  is  able  to  develop  itself, 
according  to  its  proper  design,  by  virtue  of  the  laws  given  and 
the  intrinsic  virtue  imparted  to  it.  We  can  conceive  of  the 
world  as  a  watch  that  can  go  without  constant  re-winding.  It 
may  be  endowed  with  springs  capable  of  indefinite  motion,  and 
disposed  at  first  with  such  perfect  exactness  that  there  is  no 
more  need  for  any  fresh  intervention  unless  some  disturbance 
takes  place.  We  are  then  quite  prepared  to  admit  this  kind  of 
immanent  purpose;- but  that  which  needs  to  be  demonstrated  is, 
that  such  a  purpose  could  be  realised  spontaneously,  that  this 
admirable  co-ordination  of  means  and  ends  could  have  been 
brought  about  by  some  blind  instinct,  incapable  of  any  pre- 
vision, when  the  co-ordination  of  various  forces  to  a  future  end 
necessarily  implies  prevision,  that  is  to  say,  the  opposite  of 
blind  instinct.  That  the  watch  goes  of  itself  to-day,  proves 
only  one  thing,  namely,  the  perfection  of  the  original  act  by 
which  it  was  disposed,  that  is  to  say,  the  wisdom  of  the 
artificer  and  the  skill  of  his  hand.  The  more  clearly  you 
prove  the  immanent,  the  more  do  you  of  necessity  imply  the 
transcendent  as  indispensable  at  the  beginning ;  for  adaptation 


222  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

in  the  world  is  only  possible  by  virtue  of  an  intelligent  thought 
which  could  not  have  lain  buried  and  slumbering  in  the 
primitive  diffusion  of  things. 

The  plan  of  the  edifice  assuredly  did  not  form  itself  little 
by  little  as  the  structure  rose  in  such  harmonious  proportions. 
This  is  emphatically  true  with  relation  to  the  living  machines 
called  organisms,  and  of  that  vast  accumulation  of  these 
machines  .which  constitutes  the  world,  the  organic  whole. 
In  short,  the  world,  according  to  Hegel,  develops  a  vast  and 
noble  conception,  all  the  parts  of  which  are  rationally  connec- 
ted, and  yet,  according  to  his  system,  this  conception  had  no 
originator,  for  it  does  not  precede  the  things  themselves  but 
results  from  them.  This  is  wholly  inexplicable.  If  an  in- 
telligent and  powerful  Cause  did  not  create  and  dispose  the 
world,  the  world  must  have  originated  in  a  pure  potentiality, 
containing  all  forms  of  the  possible.  We  fail  to  conceive, 
first,  how  this  potential  passed  into  the  actual,  and  then  how 
a  rational  choice  was  made  between  the  various  possibilities. 
When  adaptation  is  once  admitted  in  any  degree,  it  implies  a 
predetermination,  a  predisposition,  which  is  nothing  else  than 
the  idea  of  the  effect  to  be  produced.  "  What  can  an  idea  be, 
if  it  is  not  an  intellectual  act,  made  present  to  mind  by  con- 
sciousness ?  " l 

IV.   SCHOPENHAUER  AND    HARTMANN. — RENAN  AND   JULES 

SOURY. 

We  have  seen  how  the  theory  of  immanence,  as  formulated 
by  Hegel,  leads  to  optimism,  since  by  virtue  of  the  indwelling 
logic  which  governs  the  world,  all  is  well,  and  even  evil  itself 
contributes  to  this  dialectic,  which  makes  every  fresh  stage 
in  the  progress  of  existence  to  consist  in  the  reconciliation  of 
two  contradictory  terms. 

1  "  Les  Causes  Finales,"  Janet,  Book  II.,  chap,  ii.,  §  2.  See  a  very 
conclusive  refutation  of  Hegelian  pantheism  in  Jules  Simon's  "  Natural 
Religion." 


SCHOPENHAUER  AND  HARTMANN.  223 

We  find  the  theory  of  immanence  also  in  Schopenhauer  and 
Hartmann,  and  adaptation  in  connection  with  it.  In  their 
philosophy  it  is  called  the  Unconscious,  and  its  tendency  is  in 
an  opposite  direction,  namely  to  pessimism.1  This  school  is 
very  popular  just  now,  its  doleful  auguries  are  specially  affected 
by  those  virtuosi  of  the  thinking  world,  who,  aiming  mainly 
at  effect,  harp  ad  nauseam  on  the  theme  in  vogue,  like  street 
musicians  on  a  popular  air.  It  is  the  strain  of  despair  which 
seems  in  our  day,  if  not  the  most  beautiful,  at  any  rate  the  most 
piquant,  and  we  are  wearied  with  its  repetition.  Even  Hart- 
mann, in  spite  of  his  extensive  learning  and  his  powers  as  a 
metaphysician,  has  often  enhanced  his  tragic  theme  by  para- 
doxes so  strange  that  they  might  be  most  fitly  paralleled  by  the 
physical  contortions  of  a  clown. 3  It  must  be  admitted,  how- 
ever, that  he,  like  his  master,  represents  one  of  the  great  schools 
of  thought,  that  v\hich  argues,  from  the  aspect  of  things,  the 
triumph  of  evil  over  good,  and  thus  raises  against  conscious 
design  a  grave  objection,  which  it  would  be  frivolous  to  ignore. 
Pessimism  has  been  the  inspiration  of  systems  of  religion  and 
civilisation  which  have  held  millions  of  men  under,  their  in- 
fluence for  centuries.  It  is  the  true  basis  of  Asiatic  pantheism, 
of  which  Buddhism  is  the  outcome.  To  the  mind  of  the  subtle 
Oriental  races,  imbued  with  these  conceptions,  individual  life 
appears  in  itself  a  curse,  as  something  outside  the  true  exis- 
tence— the  Infinite.  There  is  only  one  happy  moment  in  the 
life  of  the  perishable  creature — that  which  puts  an  end  to  his 
own  proper  existence  and  plunges  him  into  the  dark  abyss  of 
absolute  Being.  Our  western  Buddhism  finds  a  still  deeper 
source  for  the-  misery  of  existence  ;  it  regards  it  as  accursed 
because  it  is  bound  up  with  the  will.  Now  it  is  of  the  essence 
of  will  to  desire  that  which  it  cannot  obtain,  and  hence  to 
pursue  an  end  which  is  ever  eluding  it,  and  to  consume  itself 
in  impotent  desire.  Schopenhauer  sees  nothing  in  the  will 

1  See  "  Schopenhauer's  Philosophy."     Ribot. 
3      Philosophic  des  Unhewussten."    Hartmann. 


224  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

but  effort  and  suffering.  The  representation  or  the  idea  is 
with  him  altogether  secondary.  Everything  in  the  material 
as  in  the  spiritual  world,  resolves  itself  into  the  will,  that  is 
to  say,  into  throes  of  pain.  In  its  latest  form,  pessimism  is 
even  more  fully  developed.  We  shall  give  a  brief  summary 
of  this  "Philosophy  of  the  Unconscious"  as  presented  in  Hart- 
mann's  famous  work,  which  has  been  the  great  philosophical 
success  of  recent  years.  We  shall  only  attempt  to  trace  its 
main  outlines. 

Hartmann  avows  himself  a  decided  believer  in  teleology. 
No  one  has  more  strongly  combated  the  purely  mechanical  ex- 
planation of  the  universe.  The  slightest  muscular  movement 
implies,  in  addition  to  the  purely  nervous  act,  a  motive  idea,  a 
mental  representation  of  the  muscular  point  to  be  moved. 
Nature  has  a  restorative  and  reparative  virtue  which  cannot  be 
traced  to  mere  motions.  Evolution  is  not  simply  the  develop- 
ment of  a  self-identical  force.  Every  progression  in  nature  is 
the  expansion  of  a  new  germ,  which  had  been  present  in  a  latent 
form  in  the  antecedents. *  Progression  is  not  then  due  solely 
to  external  circumstances,  such  as  the  struggle  for  existence  or 
the  change  of  environment.  These  circumstances  have  indeed 
an  influence  on  the  development  of  existence,  but  that  develop- 
ment is  due  to  the  virtue  of  the  new  germ  implanted  by  a 
higher  power,  and  not  of  their  own  originating.  This  higher 
power,  which  orders,  combines,  and  disposes  all  things  in 
regular  sequence,  is  not  a  supernatural  cause,  an  intelligent  and 
free  being,  it  is  nothing  else  than  the  "  Unconscious,"  or  the 
great  All.  Hartmann  gives  the  key-note  of  his  system  in  these 
words :  "  To  bring  together  all  the  phenomena  of  thought 
which  exhibit  unconscious  ideas  and  unconscious  volitions; 
and  by  means  of  this  collection  of  facts  to  demonstrate  the 
existence  of  the  common  principle  which  explains  them  all,  is 
the  object  of  the  first  two  sections  of  this  work."2 

1  See  "  Philosophic  des  Unbewussten."     Hartmann. 
3  Ibid.)  "  Einleitendes,"  p.  2. 


HARTMANN.  22$ 

The  object  of  this  demonstration  is  to  show  that  the  Uncon- 
scious is  nothing  else  than  the  One-All,  in  which  the  entire 
universe  is  contained.  The  proof  results  from  the  collation  of 
two  series  of  facts ;  the  first  series  is  taken  from  nature  and 
animal  life ;  that  is  to  say,  from  the  sphere  of  life  in  which  con- 
sciousness is  absent  or  incomplete.  The  author  accumulates 
facts  in  evidence  that  this  obscure  world  regulates  itself  with 
admirable  wisdom,  which  can  only  be  the  manifestation  of  the 
Unconscious.  Everything  in  this  domain  is  at  once  intelligent 
and  instinctive.  Intelligence  then  can  exist  without  conscious- 
ness. The  second  series  of  facts  is  taken  from  the  world 
of  man,  in  which  it  has  always  been  assumed  that  intelli- 
gence reigns  supreme.  It  is  shown  on  the  contrary,  that  its 
highest  manifestations  are  spontaneous  and  instinctive  rather 
than  rational,  and  that  they  belong  therefore  to  the  sphere  of 
the  Unconscious.  Thus  it  is  the  Unconscious,  and  not  con- 
scious thought,  which  governs  the  world.  We  shall  not  follow 
Hartmann's  elaboration  of  this  ingenious  argument.  Our  own 
minds  can  suggest  many  of  the  curious  and  interesting  facts  to 
be  adduced  in  evidence  of  design  at  work  in  the  organism  of 
living  creatures,  in  their  growth,  formation,  functions,  and  in 
proof  of  the  unfailing  certainty  of  that  instinct  in  animals  which 
enables  them  to  find  their  sustenance,  and  to  secure  the  safety 
of  their  progeny  (even  when  they  are  never  to  know  them),  to 
construct  their  habitations,  and  to  conform  to  the  great  law  of 
division  of  labour.  The  author  has  no  difficulty  in  showing 
that  instinct  is  compatible  with  a  spontaneous  skill  not  to  be 
equalled  in  certainty  and  in  fertility  of  combination  by  the 
most  scientifically  devised  human  industry.  In  the  second 
part  of  his  argument  he  brings  out  with  equal  clearness  the 
share  taken  by  spontaneity  in  human  activity.  We  find  at  the 
outset  instinct  in  this  higher  sphere  just  as  in  the  animal  world. 
Is  it  not  instinct  which  is  paramount  in  the  endearments  of 
love,  in  that  sudden  electric  thrill  which  binds  together  two 
human  souls  ?  The  moral  life  is  nourished  in  mysterious, 

Q 


226  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

obscure  depths,  from  whence  springs  all  that  is  great  and 
powerful.  The  will  gives  its  decision  in  critical  moments  with 
lightning  rapidity.  Character,  which  constitutes  the  true  ego, 
is,  as  it  were,  the  subterranean  source  of  our  activity ;  it  is 
not  formed  by  the  reason.  The  influence  of  education  and 
instruction  is  as  nothing  compared  with  this  hidden,  sovereign, 
inexplicable  force.  When  man  is  raised  above  himself  by  the 
generous  impulse  of  heroism,  or  when  he  attains  the  summit 
of  genius,  he  is  no  longer  his  own  ;  calculation  is  absent  from 
all  that  is  great,  it  is  the  triumph  of  spontaneity.  The  more 
powerful  the  inspiration  is,  the  more  it  carries  us  out  of  our- 
selves ;  it  is  a  sublime  delirium,  in  which  the  mind  loses  sight 
of  all  its  wonted  and  measured  conceptions.  The  noblest 
possessions  of  thought  have  come  by  intuition,  that  is,  spon- 
taneously, not  by  ordered  search.  Lastly,  mysticism,  which  is 
the  basis  of  that  universal  manifestation  of  the  human  soul 
called  religion,  is  nothing  else  than  unconsciousness,  the  loss 
of  the  conscious  ego  in  the  abyss  of  the  Divine.  In  the  history 
of  humanity,  the  Unconscious  reveals  itself  first  in  the  mar- 
vellous invention  of  language,  which  would  never  have  come 
from  a  slow  process  of  thought ;  and  then  in  those  great  move- 
ments of  the  masses  which  suddenly  regenerate  the  world,  in 
that  collective  genius  which  inaugurates  new  eras  by  revolutions 
which  defy  all  prevision  and  calculation. 

The  immorality  exemplified  in  history,  which  allows  injustice 
to  triumph  proudly,  while  it  suffers  the  best  of  men  to  fall 
one  by  one  under  the  mysterious  scythe,  upon  the  ground 
watered  by  their  tears  and  their  sweat,  without  one  pitying 
hand  held  out  to  succour  them,  is  an  overwhelming  proof  that 
the  sovereign  power  does  not  belong  to  a  wise  and  just  Being 
capable  of  loving  and  succouring,  of  governing  the  world  in 
accordance  with  what  seems  to  us  good  ;  but  to  an  irresponsi- 
ble power  without  goodness,  without  compassion,  indifferent 
as  Nature  itself  to  our  woes — in  one  the  great  unconscious 
All.  He  is  neither  good  nor  bad,  neither  just  nor  unjust, 


HARTMANN.  227 

for  he  comes  under  none  of  the  categories  of  conscious  life, 
He  has  the  certainty  of  instinct,  of  intuition.  What  is  he  then, 
in  short  ?  He  is  at  once  the  idea  and  the  will ;  the  uncon- 
scious idea,  the  unconscious  will.  The  idea  contains  in  itself 
virtually  the  summation  of  possible  existences.  The  will  tends 
to  realise  them,  and  this  it  does  blindly,  without  consciousness, 
with  a  sort  of  productive  mania.  To  use  Hartmann's  image, 
the  idea  is  the  feminine  element ;  the  will  does  violence  to  it 
to  evolve  from  it  the  real  existence.  There  is  present  in  this 
first  production  of  existences  a  principle  of  suffering,  but  the 
will  never  exhausts  all  the  potentiality  of  the  idea ;  the  possible 
always  goes  beyond  the  real.  Hence  the  dim  sense  of  some- 
thing lacking  in  a  world  always  incomplete  and  haunted  with 
unsatisfied  desire.  But  the  idea  and  the  will  only  feel  this 
pain  in  a  very  slight  degree;  it  is  uneasiness  rather  than  suffer- 
ing, for  consciousness  has  not  yet  begun.  The  theory  of  con- 
sciousness is  the  most  obscure  part  of  Hartmann's  system ;  it 
is  not  possible  to  make  it  really  clear.  As  far  as  we  understand 
it,  it  is  this  : — Matter  has  been  produced  by  the  Unconscious  ; 
it  reduces  itself  to  an  almost  ideal  atomism,  to  a  compound  of 
forces  subject  to  the  laws  of  attraction.  These  atoms,  in  group- 
ing themselves,  form  various  organisms ;  the  most  perfect  is 
the  brain,  which  is  the  necessary  condition  of  definite  thought. 
From  the  moment  when  the  unconscious  idea  comes  in  contact 
with  the  brain,  it  is  localised  or  limited ;  an  obstacle  is  pre- 
sented to  its  indeterminateness.  It  comes  into  collision  with 
something  which  the  Unconscious  has  not  willed,  and  which  is 
a  barrier  to  it  Thus  thrown  back  upon  itself,  reflexion  begins, 
and  with  reflexion  the  consciousness  which  distinguishes  be- 
tween the  ego  and  the  non-ego  represented  by  the  material 
organism.  "Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  that  peace  which  the 
Unconscious  enjoys  with  itself,  arises  organised  matter,  the 
action  of  which  excites  the  reaction  of  sensibility  and  presents 
to  it  an  idea  which  seems  to  have  fallen  from  heaven,  for  it 
feels  in  itself  no  will  to  produce  it  For  the  first  time  the 


228  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

object  of  its  intuition  comes  to  it  from  without.  The  great 
revolution  is  begun,  the  first  step  is  taken  towards  the  enfran- 
chisement of  the  world.  The  idea  is  emancipated  from  the 
will;  in  future  it  will  be  capable  of  opposing  it.  The  astonish- 
ment of  the  will  at  this  revolt,  the  sensation  that  the  appearance 
of  the  idea  produces  in  the  Unconscious,  this  is  consciousness.1 
As  soon  as  consciousness  appears,  the  pain  of  the  world,  which 
was  before  dull,  becomes  acute.  The  tragedy  begins,  but  at 
the  same  time  the  means  of  deliverance  is  found.  Of  this 
formation  of  consciousness  by  the  brain  we  may  say,  '•''Felix 
culpa"  for  this  suffering  of  the  world  ceases  just  because  it 
becomes  intolerable.  The  conscious  ego  has  subdivided 
itself  into  a  multitude  of  individuals  who  are  only  the  co-ordi- 
nation of  atoms  or  atomic  forces  grouped  in  time  and  space. 
Each  particular  being,  each  individual,  is  the  resultant  of  the 
reciprocal  action  of  the  diversified  wills  of  the  One- All.  They 
are  not  beings,  but  acts  of  the  Being.  The  conscious  and 
individual  being  aspires  to  repudiate  this  accursed  life  concen- 
trated in  him ;  he  aims  to  return  to  unity  from  multiplicity,  in 
order  that,  by  concentrating  more  and  more  the  conscious  life, 
he  may  destroy  it  at  one  blow,  and  with  it  this  world  of  despair. 
Hartmann  paints  in  vivid  colours  the  universal  agony.  He 
shows  that  suffering  increases  with  the  development  of  life,  that 
happiness  can  be  only  negative,  that  all  joy  has  its  counterpart 
in  ever-growing  pain.  Optimism  is  only  a  ridiculous  illusion, 
whether  it  places  happiness  in  the  present  life,  the  balance- 
sheet  of  which  always  shows  a  loss,  or  discounts  on  the  future 
a  bill  without  any  security,  or  takes  refuge  in  the  theory  of 
progress,  which  is  the  silliest  of  all  deceptions.  Our  demo- 
cratic institutions  efface  all  the  fine  distinctions  of  art  and 
of  thought.  The  happiness  of  the  greatest  number  means  the 
lowering  of  the  general  level ;  thus  it  runs  counter  to  all  the 
conditions  of  excellence,  which  requires  the  preponderance  of 
the  select  few  over  the  vulgar  many.  The  light  becomes  grey 
1  See  "  Philosophic  des  Unbewussten,"  Hartmann. 


HARTMANN.  229 

and  cold  by  diffusion.  The  object  of  our  aspiration  must  be 
the  time  when  the  last  man  shall  see  the  light  upon  a  frozen 
earth,  when  consciousness  shall  have  done  its  work,  which  is 
to  lead  all  men  to  the  voluntary  extinction  of  life.  Then 
the  Unconscious  will  regain  its  idea-less  tranquillity,  unless  it 
evolves  a  new  world  of  suffering.  Happily,  it  will  never  be- 
come conscious. 

In  short,  in  the  beginning,  in  the  period  of  pure  unconscious- 
ness, there  was  no  conflict  between  the  idea  and  the  will,  and 
therefore  no  opposition  to  the  production  of  the  world.  When 
the  idea  became  conscious,  the  will  was  enlightened,  it  under- 
stood that  its  works  were  accursed,  and  it  turned  against  them. 
After  having  created  all,  it  seeks  to  destroy  all.  This  colossal 
suicide  is  the  result  of  conscious  life.  For  this  very  reason  it 
is  a  boon,  for  good  results  from  the  excess  of  evil,  and  the  one 
possible  good  is  annihilation.  Meanwhile,  it  is  lawful  for  each 
individual  to  seek  his  own  interest ;  selfishness  is  the  only 
reasonable  thing,  it  is  not  for  us  to  be  more  generous  than 
the  Unconscious.  Moreover,  it  is  only  egoism  which  has 
produced  individuality.  Morals  belong  only  to  the  world  ot 
appearances.  If  we  aim  at  success,  it  is  because  this  is  our 
great  interest.  Justice,  which  has  no  eternal  basis,  since  it  has 
no  existence  in  the  Unconscious,  is  troublesome,  since  it  helps 
to  maintain  the  equilibrium  of  things  as  they  are.  Charity 
does  more  harm  than  good,  by  postponing  their  necessary 
destruction.  All  things  considered,  the  will  of  Nature  produces 
more  pain  than  pleasure.  In  order  to  escape  from  this  calamity 
of  the  will,  the  unconscious  idea,  which  has  not  been  able  to 
prevent  the  misfortune,  has  recourse  to  consciousness,  which  is 
to  emancipate  the  idea  by  subdividing  the  will  in  the  process  of 
individualisation,  and  by  drawing  it  in  opposite  directions  which 
neutralise  each  other.  By  the  development  of  consciousness 
the  will  is  to  be  reduced  to  nothingness  ! 

The  objections  are  manifold  to  this  ingenious  system,  which, 
in  spite  of  the  brilliancy  of  its  exposition,  seems  (except  on  one 


230  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

point,  to  which  we  shall  refer  again)  more  like  a  prodigious  jeu 
d'esprit,  a  gauntlet  thrown  down  in  sport,  than  a  serious  meta- 
physical essay.  At  the  very  outset  it  is  marred  by  a  funda- 
mental contradiction.  The  Unconscious  is  proclaimed  to  b.e 
infallible ;  we  are  told  that  it  is  never  mistaken  in  the  way  in 
which  it  instinctively  guides  the  world,  where  it  reigns  alone ; 
and  yet  this  world  in  itself,  even  before  the  great  folly  and 
agony  of  consciousness  begins,  is  a  colossal  mistake.  However 
vague  its  suffering  is,  it  is  real,  and  arises  out  of  the  impassable 
distance  between  the  will  and  the  idea,  the  will  never  being 
able  to  realise  all  the  possible  contained  in  the  idea.  However 
indefinite,  the  conflict  exists ;  the  Unconscious  has  then  per- 
petrated a  folly.  What  does  it  avail  to  accredit  it  with  in- 
fallibility in  details,  if  the  whole  thing  is  a  grand  mistake? 
What  can  we  understand  by  this  instinct  which  is  infallible 
where  it  has  to  provide  for  the  nourishment  of  larvae,  but  which 
has  commenced  its  work  with  a  prodigious  blunder?  How 
can  we  admit  a  well-ordered  design  in  the  parts,  when  the 
whole  is  an  absurdity  ?  The  system  is  no  less  contradictory  in 
its  assertions  as  to  the  genesis  of  consciousness.  In  the  first 
place,  how  is  it  possible  to  understand  how  consciousness 
should  take  its  rise  despite  the  Unconscious  ?  Is  it  not  the 
Unconscious  which  has  produced  the  material  organism  from 
its  lowest  rudiments  to  that  delicate,  finely  adjusted  instrument 
— the  brain  ?  Yet  it  is  the  brain  which,  stemming  mere  instinct, 
raises  it  to  reflexion  and  consciousness,  that  is  to  say,  converts 
it  into  something  not  intended  by  the  Unconscious,  and  thus 
the  first  conflict  begins  between  the  idea  and  the  will.  On 
what  ground  can  it  be  assumed  that  the  Unconscious  did  not 
will  this  contact  of  instinct  with  the  brain,  if  it  is  true  that  it 
did  not  prevent  the  formation  of  that  inopportune  organ?  He 
willed  the  means  by  which  conscience  was  produced ;  is  not 
this  the  same  thing  as  willing  its  production  ?  It  is  impossible 
to  escape  this  difficulty.  Let  us  look,  in  the  next  place,  at  the 
part  assigned  to  consciousness.  We  are  told  that  its  mission 


HARTMANN.  231 

is  one  of  enfranchisement,  because  by  urging  on  to  its  utmost 
limit  the  suffering  of  the  world,  it  leads  the  conscious  creature, 
in  whom  all  this  suffering  is  concentrated,  to  seek  to  destroy 
its  cause,  to  put  an  end  to  life  and  being.  But  surely  it  was 
this  same  supposed  deliverer  which  really  produced  the  suffer- 
ing. Before  its  appearance  suffering  was  so  indistinct,  so 
vague,  that  it  could  hardly  be  said  to  exist.  Suffering  which  is 
not  felt  is  not  suffering,  and  how  could  suffering  be  felt  without 
consciousness  ?  In  short,  it  is  consciousness  which  gives  birth 
to  our  sufferings,  it  is  this  which  binds  the  hungry  vulture  to 
Prometheus'  side.  What  it  destroys  is  its  own  handiwork — 
consequently  its  supposed  work  of  deliverance  is  a  farce.  We 
might  well  crave  to  be  saved  from  this  deliverance,  since  it  is 
also  the  cause  of  the  anguish  to  which  it  is  supposed  to  put  an 
end.  It  is  the  world's  executioner — an  executioner  who  does 
not  do  his  work  at  a  blow,  but  who  protracts  and  intensities 
his  torture  during  endless  ages.  It  is  evident  that  when  he 
shall  have  struck  his  last  blow,  there  will  be  no  more  cries  and 
tears,  because  there  will  be  no  one  left  to  sigh  or  suffer.  But 
it  would  have  been  simpler  to  leave  out  the  executioner  alto- 
gether. The  benefit  of  the  last  blow  of  his  axe  is  altogether 
outweighed  by  the  previous  tortures  of  which  he  has  been  the 
author. 

In  a  word,  if  the  world  is  a  folly,  the  Unconscious  by  which 
it  was  produced  is  fatuous.  All  is  pure  irrationality,  why 
should  we  try  to  philosophise  ?  Let  us  cease  this  comedy, 
which  casts  no  cheering  ray  upon  the  dark  delirium  of  exis- 
tence. 

If,  turning  for  a  moment  from  these  strange  aspects  of  the 
system,  we  consider  the  ingenious  and  often  striking  observa- 
tions by  which  the  author  tries  to  establish  the  universality  and 
superiority  of  unconsciousness  by  pointing  out  in  the  animal 
world  the  certainty  of  instinct,  and  in  human  life  the  glorious 
aspect  of  the  spontaneous,  whirh  he  holds  to  be  purely  in- 
stinctive, we  should  make  the  same  objection  to  that  which  is 


232  THE   PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

absolute  in  his  system  which  we  have  already  raised  against  the 
theory  of  immanence.  He  calls  us  to  admire  marks  of  design 
in  nature,  combinations  perfect  in  their  adaptation  to  the  end 
in  view,  that  is  to  say,  to  a  coming  event  which  cannot  be 
apprehended  by  sensation.  This  design  in  nature  implies 
prevision,  and  consequently  intelligence,  which  is  something 
apart  from  the  fluctuations  of  mere  sensation.  We  have  within, 
in  our  mental  consciousness,  the  perfect  type  of  this  .thought 
which  foresees  and  combines.  We  ourselves  have  recognised 
how  far  superior  is  its  operation  to  that  of  instinct.  It  alone 
can  disperse  the  illusions  of  passion,  and  can  overcome  indeci- 
sion, by  making  us  weigh  our  motives  and  adapt  means  to 
the  end  in  view.  It  teaches  us  our  true  interest ;  and  to  it 
civilisation  owes  its  progress.  It  would  seem  that  we  have 
here  a  sufficient  explanation  of  design,  for,  having  discovered  it 
in  ourselves,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  our  admitting  its  exis- 
tence prior  to  and  above  ourselves.  Everything  points  to  this 
conclusion,  for  the  effect  cannot  be  greater  than  the  cause. 
The  mind  within  us  can  only  have  been  produced  by  mind. 
In  admitting  that  mind,  not  feeble  and  limited,  as  it  is  in  us, 
but  absolute  and  all-powerful,  is  the  principle  of  things,  the 
adaptation  which  we  trace  in  them  ceases  to  be  obscure.  It  is 
an  adaptation  derived  from  the  supreme  Intelligence,  which  alone 
is  capable  of  prevision  and  combination.  To  prefer  to  substi- 
tute for  this  the  Unconscious,  incapable  of  any  prevision,  of 
any  volition  with  a  view  to  an  end,  is  at  best  to  have  re- 
course to  the  less  to  explain  the  greater,  to  the  obscure  to 
explain  that  which  is  clear.  In  view  of  the  smallest  work  of 
man,  we  exclaim,  Here  is  the  evidence  of  mind.  Yet,  looking 
on  this  vast  organisation  of  the  world,  the  presence  of  mind  is 
denied,  and  its  explanation  is  sought  in  the  unintelligent,  the 
Unconscious.  We  do  not  deny  instinct  and  its  marvels  ;  what 
we  do  deny  is,  that  it  is  self-sufficing,  and  that  the  most  per- 
fectly adjusted  results  are  to  be  assigned  to  a  cause  incapable 
of  foreseeing. 


RENAN.  233 

We  observe  also  that  Hartmann  has  made  the  domain  of 
instinct  singularly  broad,  and  that  in  identifying  the  raptures 
of  love,  the  miracles  of  genius,  and  the  sublime  deeds  of 
heroism  with  the  instinct  of  the  insect,  he  has  forgotten  that 
in  man  spontaneity  is  never  dissociated  from  consciousness, 
that  intelligence  is  always  an  element  in  acts  of  the  most  spon- 
taneous generosity,  and  that  in  its  lightning  rapidity,  the  play 
of  conscious  thought  combined  with  the  effort  of  the  will,  is 
something  infinitely  higher  than  mere  animal  instinct. 

All  that  has  just  been  adduced  in  opposition  to  the  theory 
of  unconscious  design,  applies  point  by  point  to  the  strange  cos- 
mogony laid  down  by  M.  Renan  with  his  peculiar  skill  as  a 
writer,  in  his  "  Dialogues  Philosophiques."  He  also  recognises 
design,  the  carrying  out  of  a  plan  in  the  world,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  maintains  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  to  reveal 
another  will  than  that  of  man,  as  though  this  design,  this  plan, 
did  not  imply  an  intelligent  cause,  capable  of  prevision  and 
combination;  as  though  the  mere  existence  of  the  thinking 
and  willing  creature  called  man  did  not  point  to  a  cause  at 
least  equal  in  intelligence  and  power.  M.  Renan  would  have 
us  believe  that  the  mysterious  power  hidden  in  the  heart  of 
nature  misleads  us  with  an  artfulness  unparalleled  by  any 
Machiavellianism  of  history,  whether  to  beguile  us  by  the 
wiles  of  love  into  the  perpetuation  of  the  species,  or,  above  all, 
to  persuade  us  to  do  that  which  is  right,  as  though  right  had 
some  special  sanction  attached  to  it ;  as  if,  of  all  vain  things  in 
the  world,  the  vainest  were  not  virtue.  We  are  left  to  divine 
how  all  this  artifice  is  compatible  with  unconsciousness.  In- 
deed, from  the  very  first  these  "  Dialogues  Philosophiques," 
with  their  seeming  ease  and  their  startling  paradoxes,  have 
been  accused  of  putting  in  the  place  of  the  Christian  faith 
mysteries  infinitely  harder  to  be  understood.  What  can  be 
said  of  the  fantastic  visions  with  which  this  strange  book  closes? 
What  can  we  think  of  that  great  divine  polypary  of  the  future, 
in  which  all  individual  consciousness  is  to  be  confounded ;  of 


234  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

those  future  masters  of  the  world,  those  terrible  savants  whose 
glance  will  be  more  deadly  than  the  lightning,  and  who  must 
be  put  an  end  to  with  all  speed,  as  the  worst  of  monsters  ? 

The  hylozoism  which  M.  Soury  proclaims  in  a  Latin  thesis, 
with  the  express  reservation  of  a  secret  doubt,  he  vainly  at- 
tempts to  accredit  with  a  lofty  genealogy,  in  which  he  erroneously 
inserts  the  great  name  of  Leibnitz.1  He  falls  into  as  palpable 
contradictions  as  the  system  of  the  Unconscious.  According 
to  this  theory,  intelligence,  consciousness,  memory,  all  belong, 
like  motion,  to  the  ultimate  parts  of  matter.  Between  the 
stone  and  the  mind  there  are  only  differences  of  degree. 
Clearly  there  is  in  this  motley  system  the  implicit  avowal  of 
the  impossibility  of  adhering  to  unconscious  design.  M.  Soury 
recognises  that  design  is  inconceivable  without  consciousness, 
and  he  assigns  consciousness  to  the  atom.  Motion  is  only  the 
external  aspect  of  feeling  and  consciousness.  The  prejudice 
against  the  idea  of  the  Divine  must  indeed  be  strong,  when 
mind  is  assigned  by  preference  to  the  material  atom,  rather 
than  admit  a  spiritual  power  as  alone  capable  of  communicating 
the  higher  life  to  the  creature,  and  of  disposing  the  world  in 
harmony  with  predetermined  laws. 

M.  Renan  and  M.  Soury  agree  in  the  conclusion  that  all 
that  we  call  good  or  virtue  is  a  mere  delusion  and  vanity,  and 
that  the  end  of  existence  is  a  great  blank.  If  the  former  is 
more  guarded  in  his  expressions  than  the  latter,  the  reserve 
is  only  observed  in  the  part  of  his  dialogues  which  he  calls 
"  Les  Reves,"  in  which  all  is  imagination  ;  but  the  final  utter- 
ance of  both  is  a  note  of  despair.  Like  Hartmann  and 
Schopenhauer,  their  theories  end  in  pessimism. 

1  The  monad  is  not  the  intelligent  and  conscious  atom  of  hylozoism.  It 
is  an  energy  representative  of  the  world  in  which  perception  is  sometimes 
vague,  when  it  constitutes  the  corporeal  element,  sometimes  distinct,  when 
it  constitutes  the  soul.  This  suffices  to  maintain  the  distinction  between 
matter  and  mind  which  hylozoism  effaces.  Moreover,  the  affirmation  of 
the  Supreme  Cause,  so  distinctly  made  by  Leibnitz,  forbids  any  assimila- 
tion of  the  two  systems. 


PESSIMISM,  235 

This  pessimism  brings  again  before  us  the  weightiest  objection 
that  can  be  urged  against  intelligent  design,  namely,  the  pre- 
sence of  sorrow  and  evil,  and  consequently  of  disorder  in  the 
world.  This  presents  at  the  outset  an  invincible  argument 
against  the  ordering  of  the  world  by  supreme  wisdom.  Doubt- 
less this  objection  is  unreasonably  exaggerated  by  Hartmann. 
It  is  not  true  that  existence  is  simply  suffering;  the  happiness 
which  even  the  humblest  creatures  enjoy  is  not  purely  negative. 
When  the  bird  flings  abroad  on  the  cloudless  morning  air  his 
flood  of  song,  he  expresses  a  joy  in  living  which  is  no  illusion. 
Short  and  precarious  as  this  joy  is,  it  is  none  the  less  real ; 
the  bird's  whole  being  expands  with  delight ;  his  rapture  is  no 
deception.  When  the  spectacle  of  natural  beauty  thrills  the 
heart  of  man  with  an  ecstasy  of  admiration,  which  sometimes 
bursts  forth  in  noble  song ;  when  he  stands  awed  and  en- 
tranced beneath  the  star-lit  expanse  of  heaven ;  when  his 
passion  for  the  beautiful  is  kindled  by  some  master-piece  of 
art,  his  happiness,  transitory,  probably  even  alloyed  as  it  is,  is 
no  less  a  reality.  Love  is  not  a  false  and  flattering  tale  when 
it  means  something  more  that  the  surprise  of  the  senses,  when 
it  binds  two  hearts  together  in  a  living  sympathy.  It  has  an 
incomparable  charm  when  it  first  unfolds  in  the  soul  like  a 
flower  bathed  in  the  purest  dew  of  morning.  To  say  that  it 
withers  in  possession,  is  to  recognise  only  its  lowest  satisfaction. 
It  possesses  an  immortal  element,  and  the  human  heart  owes 
to  it  some  of  its  noblest  joys. 

The  toil  which  fertilises  with  honest  sweat  the  furrows  of 
the  various  fields  of  human  activity,  brings  with  it  a  sober 
satisfaction.  A  good  deed  done  gives  as  much  joy  as  the 
violation  of  the  moral  law  entails  of  deserved  sorrow.  The 
voluntary  martyrs  of  heroism  have  tasted,  in  the  brief  instant 
which  ended  in  death,  a  sort  of  inward  rapture  of  reward 
which  years  of  common-place  living  could  not  have  brought. 
No  sacrifice  is  ever  made  for  the  cause  we  have  at  heart,  for 
country,  for  an  idea,  which  does  not  bring  in  the  very  act  a 


236  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

happiness  for  which  all  the  enjoyments  of  selfish  ease  would 
be  a  poor  exchange.  Pessimism  is  unfair,  then,  when  it  pro- 
nounces its  anathema  upon  all  life.  Yet  it  is  more  nearly  right 
than  the  superficial  optimism  which  denies  that  there  is  any 
disorder,  which  regards  evil  as  only  the  shadow  necessary  to 
the  picture,  or  as  merely  the  consequence  of  the  limitation  of 
created  life.  Optimism  only  aggravates  the  sorrow  it  professes 
to  relieve.  It  arbitrarily  ignores  the  problem  ;  it  does  not 
solve  it.  No ;  we  fully  admit  that  life  has  bitter  sorrows  in  its 
depths,  that  all  joy  falls  before  the  mower's  scythe  while  the 
early  dew  is  scarcely  dry  upon  it.  Love  is  constantly  wounded 
by  death,  or  worse  still,  by  life  which  ever  comes  short  of  its 
aspirations.  We  can  form  no  idea  to  ourselves  of  the  iniquities 
committed  in  the  brief  hours  of  a  single  day,  of  the  wrongs 
that  are  covered  by  the  darkness  of  one  night.  The  purest 
among  men  have  suffered  most  from  their  fellows.  Saints  and 
heroes  have  been  crowned  with  thorns,  scourged,  slandered, 
sacrificed.  There  goes  up  from  our  earth  a  groaning  which 
cannot  be  uttered — the  confused  burden  of  sorrows,  nameless, 
numberless.  What  we  want  to  know  is,  whether  these  facts  really 
throw  doubt  on  the  First  Cause,  whether  they  are  incompatible 
with  design.  Evidently,  if  pessimism  is  the  end  of  all,  if  this 
is  indeed  the  world's  epitaph,  we  must  conclude  that  the  world 
was  formed  by  a  malevolent  being,  or  that  there  is  no  order  in 
it  at  all,  that  universal  existence  is  only  a  game  of  chance  or 
hazard.  If  Hartmann  and  Renan  are  right  in  affirming  that 
good  is  all  a  delusion  ;  if  the  philosophy  of  the  Unconscious  is 
justified  in  saying  that  the  distinction  between  just  and  unjust 
belongs  only  to  the  transitory  world  of  the  individual,  in  which 
we  appear  for  a  few  moments  like  the  rainbow,  which  vanishes 
away  with  the  clouds  which  it  spanned  with  its  seven-fold 
arch ;  then  we  can  understand  the  subtle  irony  over  the  virtue 
by  which  we  are  deluded,  indulged  in  by  those  whose  finer 
perceptions  see  through  the  veil.  If  Hartmann  was  right  in 
declaring  that  nature  is  immoral  and  that  its  blind  author 


PESSIMISM.  237 

makes  no  difference  between  good  and  bad  actions,  then  M. 
Renan  is  justified  in  asking  if  the  libertine  is  not  really  more 
reasonable  than  the  man  of  austere  life,  and  in  concluding  in  a 
word  that  both  are  necessary  to  the  tout  ensemble^  which  is  so 
amusing  to  contemplate.  But  if,  on  the  contrary,  Socrates  and 
Kant  were  right  in  affirming  the  categorical  imperative,  if  con- 
science has  its  law  and  to  that  law  a  sanction  is  attached,  then 
all  is  changed.  Then  that  which  is  behind  the  veil  may  be  at 
once  sublime  and  awful,  then  life  has  a  meaning,  a  purpose. 
The  world  is  not  the  result  of  a  mistake,  the  outcome  of  that 
gloomy  Unconscious,  depicted  to  us  as  at  once  so  wise  in  the 
lower  sphere  of  life  and  so  foolish  in  the  higher,  which  it 
never  willed  to  be,  and  which  puts  it  to  torture  by  forcing  it  to 
think.  It  is  absolute  good,  infinite  love,  which  rules.  This  is 
to  be  seen  even  now  by  its  triumphs  over  evil.  The  Ruler  of 
this  world  is  not  a  Moloch  without  bowels  of  compassion,  the 
impassible  destroyer  of  life,  only  showing  a  preference  when  a 
head  more  noble  than  any  other  is  to  be  laid  low,  when  the 
best  are  to  be  made  the  victims  of  the  worst ;  for  if  it  is  true  that 
we  track  the  footsteps  of  heroes  and  of  the  great  pioneers  of 
the  world  by  their  blood  spilt  upon  the  ground,  there  is  not 
one  drop  of  blood  so  shed  which  is  not  fruitful  of  good.  Suffer- 
ing would  be  incompatible  with  design  only  if  it  were  useless. 
But  to  suffering  we  owe  all  that  is  most  sublime  in  art,  all 
that  is  grandest  in  human  progress.  If  it  be  asserted  that  the 
very  existence  of  suffering  is  an  impeachment  of  Providence, 
we  reply  that  this  must  at  any  rate  depend  on  the  source 
whence  the  suffering  proceeds,  whether  from  the  caprice  of  the 
First  Cause  or  from  the  act  of  the  moral  creature.  Everything 
depends  on  our  knowing  whether  such  a  creature  exists, 
whether  there  is  here  on  earth  a  free  being,  having  a  law,  an 
ideal  to  strive  after,  and  a  will  to  conform  himself  to  that  ideal 
freely  and  without  restraint,  at  his  own  peril  and  risk.  When 
once  the  moral  liberty  of  the  moral  creature  is  recognised,  not 
only  does  the  first  Author  of  things  appear  justified  in  the  fact 


238  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

of  suffering,  but  also  He  Himself  appears  to  us  as  sovereign, 
infinite  liberty,  and  we  shall  see  at  work  in  this  world  all  the 
resources  of  the  free  love  which  has  created  and  can  restore  it. 
Pessimism  is  condemned  while  we  are  saved  on  the  other  hand 
from  the  illusions  of  optimism.  In  the  study  of  man  himself 
we  shall  find  the  answer  to  these  grave  questions.1 

1  The  question  of  pessimism  is  brilliantly  and  ingeniously  treated  in  Mr. 
Mallock's  book  "Is  Life  worth  Living?"  The  writer  establishes  very 
cleverly  and  poetically  that  the  notion  of  good,  whether  expressed  in 
positivism  or  in  the  new  English  psychology  (two  schools  which  he  too 
much  confounds),  is  equally  vague  and  impotent,  destitute  as  it  is  of  the 
moral  and  religious  idea.  He  concludes  his  book  with  an  apology  for  the 
system  of  absolute  authority,  on  the  Ultramontane  pattern,  which  has 
nothing  to  do  with  his  main  thesis.  Compare  an  eloquent  article  by 
M.  Caro  "  Sur  le  prix  de  la  vie  humaine."  (Revue  des  deux  Mondest 
August,  1882). 


BOOK    THIRD. 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING  (continued. 
MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 
MAN  IN  HIS    TWOFOLD  NATURE. 

So  far  we  have  been  looking  at  the  world  as  a  whole ;  and  by 
applying  to  it  the  principle  of  causation,  the  legitimacy  of 
which  we  have  established,  we  have  discovered  in  it  constant 
traces  of  the  action  of  a  free  and  intelligent  cause,  which  is 
at  once  supreme  power  and  supreme  wisdom.  To  this  cause 
alone  can  we  attribute  the  production  of  this  wonderful  cosmos, 
this  organic  whole,  all  the  parts  of  which  correspond  to  each 
other,  which  at  every  stage  embodies  a  particular  plan,  a  special 
design,  the  higher  being  always  the  end  of  the  lower,  till  all 
these  partial  designs  blend  in  the  general  harmony.  This  world 
which  we  know,  finds  its  consummation  in  a  strange,  complex 
being,  the  weakest  of  all  at  the  beginning  of  his  life,  the  greatest 
when  his  full  development  is  attained ;  sometimes  the  most 
vicious,  often  the  image  of  the  highest  good ;  sometimes 
heroic,  sometimes  miserably  debased.  He  alone  interrogates 
the  world  that  he  may  know  its  laws.  He  governs  it,  brings 
it  into  subjection,  perfects  it,  in  some  measure  by  perfecting 
himself;  for  while  other  beings  never  get  beyond  the  orbit  to 
which  they  are  bound  by  their  physical  conditions,  he  widens 
this  orbit  and  opens  to  himself  a  career  of  unlimited  progress, 
alike  in  the  domain  of  intellect  and  nature.  Nor  does  he 
pause  even  when  he  has  reached  the  limits  of  this  visible  world, 
which  seem  to  yield  at  his  advance.  This  being  is  man.  In 
order  to  ascertain  his  origin,  we  shall  interrogate  his  physical, 
moral,  and  intellectual  nature,  considering  him  first  as  an 

241  R 


242  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

individual  and  then  as  a  social  being.  To  him  we  shall  now 
apply  that  principle  of  causation  which  forbids  us  to  derive 
the  greater  from  the  less. 

We  have  already  anticipated  something  of  this  great  subject 
in  treating  the  problem  of  knowledge,  which  brought  man 
before  us  as  an  intellectual  and  moral  being.  We  shall  not 
repeat  what  has  been  already  said  on  this  preliminary  question. 
We  shall  now  look  at  man  as  his  nature  in  its  totality  presents 
itself  to  us,  as  an  object  of  knowledge.  We  shall  not,  indeed, 
be  able  to  leave  out  of  consideration  his  cognitive  faculties,  the 
very  use  of  which  is  in  itself  a  proof  of  his  superiority  ;  but  we 
shall  not  have  to  deal  again  with  the  problem  of  certainty. 
What  has  been  already  said  will  greatly  facilitate  what  remains 
to  be  said  of  the  intellectual  faculties  of  man. 

I.  MAN,  PHYSIOLOGICALLY  CONSIDERED. 

The  mechanical  explanation  of  the  world  as  applied  to  man, 
presents  special  difficulties,  which  have  not,  however,  deterred 
its  advocates.  Hseckel  says  :  "  The  prevailing  doctrine  of 
design,  or  teleology,  assumes  that  the  phenomena  of  organic 
life,  and  in  particular  those  of  evolution,  are  explicable  only  by 
purposive  causes,  and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  they  in  no  way 
admit  of  a  mechanical  explanation,  that  is,  one  based  entirely 
on  natural  science.  The  most  difficult  problems  in  this  respect 
which  have  been  before  us,  and  which  seemed  capable  of 
solution  only  by  means  of  teleology,  are,  however,  precisely 
those  which  have  been  mechanically  solved  in  the  Theory  of 
Descent."  l 

"  The  organic  proceeds  from  the  inorganic,"  says  M.  Lefevre, 
the  devoted  disciple  of  Haeckel  on  anthropological  questions. 
"  Motion  is  the  general  state  of  the  primary  elements,  the 
great  factor  of  molecular  combinations,  which  in  their  turn 
give  to  motion  its  modes  and  its  infinite  variety.  To  every 

1  "  Evolution  of  Man,"  Hseckel,  vol.  i.,  p.  16. 


MAN  IN  HIS    TWOFOLD  NATURE.  243 

motion  there  is  a  corresponding  form  or  state,  fluid,  crystalline, 
or  cellular,  vegetable  or  animal  organism,  sensation,  thought. 
The  organic  contains  nothing  more  than  the  inorganic."  l 

We  propose  to  show,  in  opposition  to  these  monistic 
assertions,  that  they  conflict  with  the  best-established  facts 
of  anthropology.  We  shall  not  go  beyond  the  domain  of 
physiology.  Our  whole  argument,  drawn  from  general  cosmo- 
logy, acquires  irresistible  force  as  applied  to  the  being  who  is 
unquestionably  the  crown  of  the  world. 

We  shall  show  first,  that  while  man  rules  the  world  from  the 
height  of  his  moral  and  intellectual  life,  he  is,  like  all  living 
creatures,  subject  to  mechanical  laws,  that  his  privileged 
position  as  a  free  and  responsible  agent  in  no  way  exempts  him 
from  their  operation,  that  he  is  as  completely  governed  by 
them  as  the  rock  or  the  crystal.  The  physiology  of  the  day  has 
shown  to  what  an  extent  life,  in  all  its  stages,  depends  on  the 
physico-chemical  laws,  which  are  universally  necessary  to  the 
exercise  of  its  functions.  Without  the  agents  which  depend 
on  these  laws,  without  water,  heat,  oxygen,  the  functions  of  life 
cease.  We  find  life  slumbering  or  awaking  in  the  exact 
measure  in  which  these  physico-chemical  conditions  themselves 
exist,  and  this  is  the  case  with  man  no  less  than  with  the 
lowest  animal  or  with  the  plant  beneath  his  feet.  The  pre- 
sence of  an  anaesthetic  arrests  the  vegetation  of  a  grain  as  it 
deadens  the  sensibility  of  a  patient  under  an  operation.  It 
is  this  universal  action  of  physico-chemical  conditions  upon 
all  life,  which  has  led  M.  Claude  Bernard  to  formulate  what 
he  calls  physiological  determinism,  no  less  invariable  in  its 
sphere  than  mechanical  determinism.2  Gravitation  does  not 
more  certainly  determine  the  motion  of  atoms  than  physico- 
chemical  laws  determine  the  conditions  of  physical  life  in  its 
cessation  and  its  development.  This,  however,  can  give  no 

1  "Philosophic,"  Lefevre,  pp. 451-471. 

2  "  Lemons  sur  les  Phenomenes  de  la  Vie,"  par  Claude  Bernard.    Paris  : 
1878. 


244  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

warrant  for  extending  such  determinism  to  existence  which 
is  not  simply  physical.  Determinism,  as  Claude  Bernard  de- 
fines and  applies  it  to  physiology,  is  nothing  else  than  a  fresh 
affirmation  of  the  supremacy  of  natural  laws,  that  is  to  say,  of 
that  calculating  and  combining  faculty  which  manifests  itself 
in  the  apparent  non-coherence  and  discreteness  of  matter.  The 
more  universal  the  law  is  shown  to  be,  which  determines  in  all 
existence,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest,  the  phenomena' 
which  spring  from  it,  the  more  able,  wise,  and  far-sighted  seems 
the  thought  by  which  the  law  was  conceived.  Matter,  which 
is  incapable  of  comprehending  the  calculations  on  which  its 
combinations  are  based,  must  be  at  least  as  incapable  of 
devising  them. 

Let  us  advance  one  step  further.  These  mechanical,  physico- 
chemical  laws,  which  have  so  much  influence  over  the  develop- 
ment of  physiological  life,  do  not  explain  its  production.  This 
is  true  in  relation  to  man  as  to  the  other  creatures.  However 
low  his  origin  may  be  placed,  even  though  it  were  in  the 
lowliest  protoplasm,  still  it  is  not  the  result  of  any  mechanical 
motion  or  chemical  combination.  We  have  already  shown  this 
in  a  general  way,  in  treating  of  the  origin  of  life  in  the  world. 
In  the  same  book  in  which  Claude  Bernard  dwells  with  so 
much  emphasis  upon  the  importance  of  physico-chemical  con- 
ditions, making  the  human  organism  as  completely  dependent 
upon  them  as  the  most  elementary  organisms,  he  set  aside,  in 
the  most  peremptory  manner,  all  that  would  imply  the  evolu- 
tion of  life  as  the  result  of  a  chemical  synthesis.  "  It  is  no 
more  possible,"  he  says,  "  for  the  chemist  to  manufacture  the 
simplest  ferment  than  to  produce  an  entire  living  organism." l 

If  life,  even  as  it  exists  in  the  formless  protoplasm  which 
precedes  the  cell,  cannot  be  referred  to  physico-chemical  con- 
ditions, then  HaeckeFs  mechanical  explanation  of  the  origin 
of  man  falls  to  the  ground ;  the  highest  of  organised  existences 


i  « 


Le9ons  sur  les  Phenomenes  de  la  Vie,"  Claude  Bernard,  p.  228. 


MAN  IN  HIS   TWOFOLD  NATURE.  245 

will  be  no  exception  in  this  respect.  The  theory  is  still  more 
untenable  when  applied,  not  simply  to  the  production,  but  to 
the  formation  and  specialisation  of  organic  life.  Physico- 
chemical  conditions  may  indeed  exert  an  influence  on  its  mani- 
festations, but  they  can  never  give  it  its  cohesion  and  unity. 
This  demands  a  directing  thought,  which  shall  determine  the 
development  of  the  living  being  by  harmonising  its  various 
elements,  with  a  view  to  the  whole.  "  Matter  that  is  living, 
independent,  amorphous  or  monomorphous,  is  protoplasm.  In 
it  reside  inherently  the  essential  properties,  viz.,  irritability,  and 
the  faculty  of  synthesis,  which  assimilates  external  matter,  and 
creates  organic  products.  It  is  not,  however,  yet,  a  living 
organism.  It  lacks  the  form  which  characterises  a  living  and 
definite  being.  It  is  the  matter  of  which  the  living  ideal  crea- 
ture is  formed,  it  is  the  basis  of  life ;  it  presents  life  to  us  in 
the  state  of  nudity,  in  that  which  is  universal  and  persistent 
through  all  the  variety  of  forms.  The  form  which  characterises 
the  organism  is  not  a  consequence  of  the  nature  of  the  proto- 
plasm. It  is  in  complex  organisms  like  man,  that  this  formative 
action,  obeying  the  governing  idea,  shows  itself  in  all  its  energy. 
The  complete  organism  is  an  aggregate  of  cells,  in  which  the 
conditions  of  the  life  of  each  element  are  fulfilled,  each  element 
remaining  subordinate  to  the  whole.  The  living  organism  is 
an  association  of  cells,  or  of  elements  more  or  less  modified 
and  grouped  in  tissues,  organs,  or  systems.  It  is  a  vast  me- 
chanism resulting  from  the  combination  of  secondary  mechan- 
isms. It  is  the  subordination  of  the  parts  to  the  whole  which 
makes  of  the  complex  organism  a  connected  system,  a  whole, 
an  individual.  Thus  unity  is  established  in  the  living  crea- 
ture." T  It  follows  that,  in  connexion  with  certain  fixed  physico- 
chemical  conditions,  we  have  in  the  living  creature  organic 
conditions,  or  preliminary  laws,  which  enable  it  alternately  to 
make  use  of  these  physico-chemical  conditions  in  a  manner 

1  '•Le9ons  sur  les  Ph&iom&nes  de  la  Vie,"  pp.  352,  358-363. 


246  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

adapted  to  its  predetermined  nature,  and  to  react  upon  them. 
The  higher  the  organism  rises  in  the  scale  of  life,  the  less  is  it 
controlled  by  its  external  environment.  While  vegetables  and 
certain  animals  are  so  dependent  on  these  conditions  that  their 
life  may  be  suspended  or  become  latent  by  the  effect  of  atmos- 
pheric changes ;  while  in  others,  higher  in  the  scale,  life  is  ever 
varying  in  consequence  of  this  dependence,  which  still  remains, 
though  in  a  less  degree  ;  organisms  of  more  perfect  development 
have  in  themselves  the  physico-chemical  conditions  necessary 
to  their  life.  They  form  a  sort  of  invariable  internal  atmosphere 
for  themselves  in  the  midst  of  ever-changing  cosmic  conditions. 
"  The  perpetual  changes  in  the  cosmic  elements  do  not  affect 
them ;  they  are  not  dependent  on  them ;  they  are  free  and 
independent." l  This  internal  equilibrium  implies  such  a  per- 
fection of  organism  that  external  variations  are  immediately 
compensated  and  equalised.  So  far  from  the  organism  being 
indifferent  to  the  outer  world,  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  in  most 
close  and  wisely  adjusted  relations  with  it,  so  that  its  equilibrium 
results  from  the  continual  and  delicate  compensation  kept  up 
by  the  most  sensitive  of  balances.  "In  living  organisms  of 
this  order,  the  nervous  system  regulates  the  harmony  between 
the  conditions  necessary  to  its  life,  which  do  not  differ  from  the 
conditions  indispensable  to  all  life."  2 

Thus  in  man,  regarded  simply  from  a  physiological  point  of 
view,  we  find  not  only  all  the  parts  of  the  organism  interlinked 
with  a  view  to  the  whole,  and  the  law  of  division  of  labour 
applied,  as  among  the  various  classes  of  workmen  in  a  factory 
or  citizens  in  a  community,  but  we  also  observe  an  admirable 
correspondence  established  between  this  organism  and  the 
great  physico-chemical  laws  which  govern  the  life  of  the 
cosmos ;  so  that,  without  being  an  exception  to  these  laws,  the 
living  creature  is  in  some  measure  freed  from  them  by  its 
internal  economy.  As  Claude  Bernard  says,3  the  human  organ- 

1  "  Le9ons  sur  les  Phenomenes  de  la  Vie,"  Claude  Bernard,  p.  ill. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  113.  8  Ibid. 


MAN  IN  HIS   TWOFOLD   NATURE.  247 

ism,  by  virtue  of  its  marvellous  construction,  maintains  the  equi- 
librium necessary  to  its  independence.  The  nervous  system 
forms  the  compensating  fly-wheel  of  the  machinery,  balancing 
losses  and  gains.  Thus,  to  cite  only  one  example, — water 
being  an  indispensable  element  in  the  constitution  of  the  envi- 
ronment, in  which  the  living  organs  are  evolved  and  perform 
their  functions,  there  ought  to  be  found  among  animals  such 
a  general  structural  disposition  as  will  provide  for  the  regular 
maintenance  of  the  necessary  quantity  of  water  in  the  system, 
whatever  losses  and  gains  occur.  "  The  apparatus  which  pro- 
vides for  the  loss  and  restoration  of  the  quantity  of  water  in 
the  system  is  very  complicated,  and  involves  a  number  of 
different  processes  of  secretion,  exhalation,  circulation.  The 
mechanism  varies,  but  the  result  produced  is  uniform,  viz.,  the 
presence  of  water  in  a  certain  definite  proportion  in  the  inter- 
nal organism,  as  the  condition  of  the  vital  functions." l 

We  find  organic  devices  equally  complicated  and  wonderful 
subserving  the  function  of  heat-production,  which  consists  in 
regulating  the  quantity  of  oxygen  necessary  to  the  manifestation 
of  life,  and  others  again  for  the  purpose  of  alimentation  and 
assimilation,  by  which  the  internal  equilibrium  is  maintained. 

Here  is  surely  something  very  different  from  pure  mechanism 
blind  and  purposeless.  It  matters  little  that  the  learned  author 
of  the  "  Legons  sur  les  Phe'nomenes  de  la  Vie  "  relegates  the 
question  of  final  causes  to  the  domain  of  metaphysics.  A  final 
cause  is  abundantly  evident  in  these  harmonies  between  the 
living  organism  and  its  cosmical  environment.  It  can  scarcely 
be  needful  to  remark  that  all  these  results  of  absolutely  im- 
partial science  apply,  primarily,  to  man  as  the  most  perfect 
manifestation  of  organic  life. 

We  can  only  refer  to  the  numberless  special  treatises  which 
draw  our  attention  to  the  marvellous  adaptation  of  the  human 
organs  to  the  two  great  functions  of  nutrition  and  of  relation,  and 
to  the  perfectness  of  that  great  controller  of  the  physical  life — 

1  "Lemons  sur  les  Phenomenes  de  la  Vie,"  Claude  Bernard,  p.  115. 


248  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

the  nervous  system.  The  tribute  paid  by  Bossuet  and  Fe*nelcn 
to  the  human  organism  will  never  be  surpassed,  and  the  pro- 
gress of  physiological  science  since  the  iyth  century  only  en- 
hances its  force.  "  Of  all  the  works  of  nature,"  says  Bossuet, 
"that  in  which  design  is  most  apparent,  is  man.  Every- 
thing in  the  human  body  is  disposed  with  marvellous  skill. 
The  delicacy  of  the  parts,  which  are  adjusted  with  inconceiv- 
able nicety,  is  yet  compatible  with  solidity.  The  play  of  all  the 
organs  is  as  steady  as  it  is  easy.  We  -.an  say  with  confidence 
then,  that  of  all  the  proportions  observed  in  organised  bodies, 
those  of  the  human  frame  are  the  most  perfect  and  harmonious. 
Parts  so  well  arranged,  and  all  so  adapted  to  the  uses  for 
which  they  are  made,  point  to  an  economy  and,  if  it  is  per- 
missible to  use  the  word,  to  a  mechanism  so  admirable,  that 
we  cannot  behold  it  without  amazement,  nor  sufficiently 
admire  the  wisdom  which  has  determined  its  laws.  All  the 
organs  are  so  simple,  the  play  of  them  is  so  easy,  the  struc- 
ture so  delicate,  that  every  other  machine  seems  coarse  in 
comparison.  No  chisel,  no  lathe,  no  brush,  can  approach  the 
softness  with  which  nature  fashions  and  finishes  its  workman- 
ship." l  We  refer  the  reader  to  Fene'lon's  brilliant  treatise  on 
the  existence  of  God,  in  which  his  admiration  of  the  human 
body,  which  he  calls  the  masterpiece  of  nature,  rises  to  poetic 
rapture.2 

We  recognise  in  the  human  frame  not  only  the  evidence 
of  a  final  cause  which  establishes  the  harmony  of  the  parts 
and  subordinates  each  part  to  the  whole,  keeping  an  exact 
proportion  between  the  organs  and  their  functions,  but  also 
the  principle  of  a  higher  order  which  is  called  beauty,  and  to 
which  pure  mechanism  must  always  be  perfectly  indifferent. 

There  is  nothing  more  perfect  than  the  human  form  in  its 
higher  types.  The  figure  tall  and  erect,  with  that  symmetry 
without  stiffness  which  is  peculiar  to  life,  with  that  supple 

1  "  De  la  Connaissance  de  Dieu  et  de  Soi-m£me."     Bossuet. 
3  "  De  1'Existence  de  Dieu."     Fenelon. 


MAN  IN  HIS   TWOFOLD  NATURE.  249 

grace  which  is  the  surest  sign  of  force  confident  of  itself;  the 
arch  of  the  mouth  soft  and  flexible,  as  if  quivering  with  the 
quick-coming  words;  the  oval  of  the  face  harmoniously  out- 
lined ;  the  brow  broad  and  high — the  temple  of  thought.  Os 
sublime  dedit.  The  eye,  blue  as  the  heaven  on  which  it  looks, 
or  dark  with  the  shadowy  tones  of  deep  lakes  or  lofty  summits, 
is  the  living  mirror  reflecting  the  inner  life,  now  tender  with 
love,  now  kindling  with  anger,  again  catching  a  deeper,  purer 
radiance  from  the  mysterious  world  towards  which  it  is 
strangely  drawn.  Smiling,  such  a  face  is  like  the  breaking  of 
the  dawn ;  in  sorrow  it  is  grander  still.  And  even  where  the 
features  are  less  finely  moulded,  the  stamp  of  intelligence 
gives  a  unique  attraction  to  this  animated  clay.  There  are 
various  phases  of  human  beauty.  There  is  the  beauty  of 
childhood— the  blossom  of  humanity — with  its  charming  in- 
definiteness  of  outline,  its  purity  and  freshness  ;  there  is  the 
ideal  type  of  feminine  beauty  as  represented  by  Phidias,  who 
caught  the  inspiration  of  his  miracle  in  stone  from  the  fair 
daughters  of  Greece;  then  there  is  the  heroic,  manly  type  of 
beauty,  bearing  the  diadem  of  man's  kingship  upon  its  head. 
It  is,  indeed,  rarely  that  these  types  of  human  beauty  are 
seen  in  unalloyed  perfection  in  our  race,  but  they  are 
none  the  less  the  realisation  of  the  true  ideal  of  humanity. 
Mechanism  alone  could  never  produce  this  delicate  harmony, 
the  proportions  of  which  were  never  determined  by  geo- 
metrical laws.  This  Divine  art  exhibits  the  sovereign  free- 
dom which  triumphs  over  inert  and  ponderous  matter,  subject 
to  mechanical  laws,  by  which  alone  such  variety  and  beauty 
could  never  be  evolved.  The  beauty  of  the  human  form  is 
irradiated  by  the  soul,  as  the  alabaster  vase  shows  through 
its  transparent  medium  the  light  within.  Thus  the  physical 
nature  of  man  points  us  to  his  intellectual  and  moral  being, 
for  its  chief  beauty  is  derived  from  the  expression  of  the 
moral  life  which  it  enshrines.  Take  away  the  glance,  the 
smile,  and  we  have  in  man  himself  only  the  beauty  of  the 


250  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

plastic  clay  which  we  find  everywhere  in  nature.  It  is  so 
true  that  in  human  beauty  the  reflexion  of  the  soul  is  the 
essential,  that  ugliness  itself  becomes  beautiful  when  illu- 
mined by  the  flash  of  genius.  "Who  is  that  ugly  man 
who  becomes  beautiful  when  he  speaks  ?  "  was  asked  in  refer- 
ence to  one  of  our  most  illustrious  contemporaries.  Every- 
thing moreover  in  plastic  beauty  itself,  in  the  mould  of  the 
face  and  the  forehead,  is  adapted  to  the  intellectual  life. 
Obviously  it  was  intended  in  the  modelling,  that  the  head  of 
man  should  be  the  principal  organ. 


II.    MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY  AND  MORALLY  CONSIDERED. 

The  organic  life  of  man  develops  itself  so  as  to  become 
at  once  the  instrument  and  the  expression  of  the  intellectual 
and  moral  life.  This  life  is  connected  with  the  organism,  and 
cannot  dispense  with  it.  But  organic  life,  while  it  is  thus 
the  necessary  condition  of  the  intellectual  and  moral,  is  not 
its  first  principle  or  its  end,  any  more  than  the  physico-chemi- 
cal conditions  indispensable  to  organic  life  can  be  taken  as 
its  cause.  Every  fresh  story  in  this  great  edifice  of  universal 
existence  is  superposed,  in  some  sort,  upon  the  story  below, 
but  it  is  built  of  materials  not  contained  in  that  which  pre- 
ceded it.  It  comes  out  clearly,  as  it  seems  to  us,  from  the 
study  of  psychological  facts,  in  their  relation  with  the  physio- 
logical (a  relation  always  very  close  under  the  conditions  of 
the  present  life)  that  progress  is  measured  by  the  growing 
predominance  of  the  higher  element,  which  yet  is  never  dis- 
connected from  the  lower.  The  soul,  to  use  a  familiar  image, 
is  not  stationed  in  the  body,  like  the  pilot  on  the  deck  of  the 
ship ;  it  stands  in  a  permanent  relation  to  the  body,  while  at 
the  saro-  time  it  is  ever  gaining  greater  power  over  it. 

We  have  to  show  presently  that  this  relation  does  not 


MAN  IN  HIS   TWOFOLD  NATURE.  251 

imply  that  the  two  are  at  all  confounded ;  but  before  entering 
on  this  question,  we  must  give  a  description  of  the  psycho- 
logical life  as  it  manifests  itself  to  us  directly. 

All  the  activities  of  the  soul  are  summed  up  in  these  three 
faculties — to  know,  to  love,  to  will.  Each  of  these  has  its 
history,  its  development ;  none  is  at  first  what  it  is  to  be 
afterwards.  Man  begins  with  purely  instinctive  life,  without 
any  clear  consciousness  of  itself.  In  this  phase,  the  indi- 
viduality, the  ego,  the  person,  exists  only  in  germ,  and  is  not 
separable  from  indistinct  impressions  of  which  it  is  vaguely 
the  subject.  This  instinctive  life  makes  man  in  the  first  stage 
of  his  existence  closely  akin  to  the  animal,  though  there  are 
already  indications  of  the  essential  difference  which  will  ulti- 
mately appear  between  them.  The  newborn  child  is  inferior 
in  many  respects  to  the  young  of  lower  animals,  because  it  is 
by-and-by  to  possess  intelligence.  Indeed,  at  a  very  early  age, 
reason  begins  to  cast  a  faint  gleam  over  the  instinctive  life. 
In  the  eye  of  an  infant  there  is  something  very  different  from 
the  keen  bright  orb  of  the  deer  or  the  colt.  However  this 
may  be,  it  is  certain  that  both  in  the  infant  and  in  the  animal 
the  instinctive  life  has  a  character  of  its  own,  which  distin- 
guishes it  absolutely  from  simply  organic  life.  To  feel,  to 
love,  to  will,  even  in  the  lowest  degree,  is  something  quite 
different  from  digestion,  respiration,  motion. 

The  plant  lives.  It  constitutes  a  complete  organism,  but 
it  never  has  any  real  sensation,  any  movement  of  affection, 
any  impulse  of  the  will.  Mechanics  does  not  account  for  the 
organism;  the  organism  does  not  account  for  instinct,  nor 
does  instinct  explain  the  true  intellectual  and  moral  life.  In 
that  period  of  man's  physical  life  which  Maine  de  Biran  calls 
the  affective,  the  soul  does  not  properly  distinguish  between 
itself  and  its  sensations.  The  ego  only  exists  in  a  virtual 
state.  It  is  governed  by  the  sensations,  affected  and  modified 
by  them,  and  apparently  submerged,  like  the  swimmer  who 
cannot  lift  his  head  above  the  rapid  stream  that  is  carrying 


252  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

him  along.     He  does  not  truly  know,  because   he  does  not 
clearly  distinguish  himself  from  the  object  affecting  him. 

Instinctive  knowledge  is  then  only  sensation  more  or  less 
confused.  The  will,  at  this  stage,  is  nothing  but  an  impulse 
urging  on  to  a  blind  movement,  under  the  influence  of  the 
instinctive  feeling  which  makes  man  seek  the  pleasant  and 
avoid  the  painful. 

Doubtless,  before  sensation,  feeling,  or  will,  is  possible, 
there  must  be  an  act  of  concentration  by  which  sensation  is 
conveyed  to  the  nervous  centre,  to  produce  reflex  motion  in 
the  corresponding  members,  without  which  the  living  organism 
would  remain  inert.  Doubtless,  also,  this  concentrating  action 
could  not  be  produced  by  mere  mechanical  force;  but  during 
the  period  in  which  instinct  predominates,  we  do  not  yet  find 
the  clear  distinction  between  the  subject  and  the  object  with- 
out which  there  is  no  conscious  life,  although  instinct  helps 
to  foster  it  in  the  being  in  whom  the  higher  life  is  latent. 
Instinct  does  not  produce  isolated  motions  only ;  it  co-ordin- 
ates and  directs  them  towards  an  end,  a  purpose  of  which 
instinct  itself  has  no  perception. 

Man  does  not  remain  in  this  low  stage  of  physical  life, 
although  instinct  never  ceases  to  play  a  part  in  his  existence. 
The  step  by  which  man  enters  the  higher  ranks  of  existence 
is  the  act  of  willing,  by  which  he  distinguishes  himself  from" 
things,  the  resistance  of  which  he  overcomes  by  force  of 
volition.  The  first  obstacle  with  which  he  has  to  contend  is 
his  own  body,  and  he  finds  it  needs  an  effort  to  make  this 
bend  to  his  will.  That  which  resists  is  obviously  not  identical 
with  the  energy  put  forth  to  overcome  it ;  the  duality  between 
the  ego  and  the  non-ego  makes  itself  clear  at  once.  The  first, 
the  most  elementary  act  of  willing,  awakes  the  consciousness  of 
the  human  person  as  distinct  from  outward  things.  Sensation 
pure  and  simple  is  left  behind;  perception  begins.  We  are  on 
the  threshold  of  knowledge,  which  implies  that  the  subject  is 
distinct  from  the  object,  and  that  the  ego  is  not  carried  along 


MAN  IN  HIS   TWOFOLD  NATURE.  253 

by  the  tide  of  sensation.  The  swimmer  gets  his  head  above 
the  stream.  We  need  not  say  more  on  this  subject,  which  has 
already  been  fully  treated  in  the  earlier  chapters  of  the  present 
work. 

We  have  shown  how,  as  soon  as  the  ego  has  become  dis- 
tinguished from  the  non-ego  by  an  effort,  it  carries  this  power 
of  volition,  by  which  it  has  overcome  the  resistance  of  the 
body,  into  the  sphere  of  knowledge.  Effort  now  rises  into 
attention,  which  is  an  intellectual  effort,  then  into  reflexion, 
becoming  ever  more  clearly  conscious  of  its  proper  self,  by 
virtue  of  these  repeated  acts  of  the  will  in  which  it  asserts 
itself. 

Not  content  with  learning  to  recognise  the  outer  world  by 
differentiating  himself  from  it,  man  takes  knowledge  of  himself. 
He  becomes  conscious  of  his  proper  energy ;  he  finds  in  him- 
self all  the  a  prioristic  laws  which  constitute  the  essence  of 
reason.  His  understanding  becomes  active ;  he  compares, 
abstracts,  generalises,  and  thus  comes  to  apprehend  unity  in 
diversity,  the  universal  in  the  manifold.  Lastly,  under  the 
influence  of  the  great  principle  of  causation,  which  is  the  axis 
and  fulcrum  of  the  human  mind,  he  rises  to  the  cause  of 
causes— the  absolute. 

We  must  not  forget  that  all  this  grand  development  of 
intelligence  began  in  the  initial  act  of  the  will,  manifested  in 
the  first  effort,  which,  instead  of  remaining  simply  muscular, 
as  in  the  animal  kingdom,  became  intellectual.  This  does 
not  imply  that  the  intelligence,  any  more  than  the  human 
personality,  was  produced  by  this  act  of  the  will.  If  it  had 
not  already  existed  virtually,  with  its  laws  and  fundamental 
principles,  all  ready  to  be  formulated  as  axioms,  it  could  never 
have  appeared.  But  in  order  to  arouse  it  from  its  latent  state, 
to  make  it  pass  from  the  virtual  to  the  actual,  there  was  still 
required  that  first  manifestation  of  the  will,  which,  by  repe- 
tition and  confirmation,  rendered  the  subject  the  conscious 
master  of  himself.  It  is  this  contact  of  the  subject,  all  en- 


254  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

swathed  as  yet  in  the  bands  of  instinct,  with  the  resistant 
object,  that  strikes  the  first  spark  of  the  great  light  of  reason  ; 
its  first  ray  reveals  the  individual  to  himself.1 

To  rise  from  the  passive  to  the  active  is  the  essential  con- 
dition of  psychological  evolution.  The  will  is  then  the  cen- 
tral, the  controlling  faculty,  that  which  constitutes  the  man,  by 
enabling  him  to  appropriate  the  treasures  which  lay  buried  in 
his  mind  in  the  period  of  unconsciousness.  It  is  the  will 
which  rouses  him  to  listen  ;  for  it  is  not  enough  simply  to 
hear  what  we  may  call  the  moral  d  priori,  the  revelation  of 
conscience,  the  immortal  categorical  imperative,  which  is  to 
be  the  law,  the  rule,  the  inspiration  of  man's  life.  We  know 
that  the  desire  to  listen  to  this  law  is  the  beginning  of 
obedience  ;  and  when  once  this  first  and  peremptory  deter- 
mination has  been  taken  by  the  will,  all  that  is  contained 
implicitly  in  moral  obligation  becomes  clear  to  it ;  and  as  the 
understanding  has  found  God  in  its  deepest  thoughts,  so  the 
conscience  recognises  Him  when  it  has  got  to  the  roots  of 
its  own  life.  Henceforth  the  will  has  a  model  before  it; 
liberty  is  no  longer  an  empty  name ;  by  the  acceptance  of  the 
Divine  law,  it  becomes  a  great  reality. 

The  third  sphere  of  the  psychological  life,  or  the  life  of 
feeling,  comes  under  the  same  law.  The  life  of  the  affections 
is  also  raised  above  instinct  and  the  blind  impulses  of  a  state 
of  passivity.  It  conceives  of  a  higher  life  than  one  of 
alternate  attraction  and  repulsion,  governed  by  mere  impulses 
of  pleasure  and  pain.  The  life  of  the  affections  becomes  that 
of  voluntary,  conscious  love,  the  sublime  assertion  of  individu- 
ality and  of  liberty,  the  life  that  is  most  its  own  when  it  gives 
itself  away. 

In  this  sphere  again,  true  liberty  comes  through  the  accept- 
ance of  the  Divine  law  of  love;  for  God,  the  highest  truth 
of  the  reason,  the  sacred  rule  of  conscience,  is  also  the 

1  See  "  CEuvres  Philosophiques,"  Maine  de  Biran,  vol.  iii->  P.  167, 
**  Psychologic."  Janet. 


MAN  IN  HIS  TWOFOLD  NATURE.  255 

supreme  object  of  affection,  which  finds  in  Him  that  which  is 
worthiest  to  be  loved.  The  individuality  of  man  is  so  much 
the  more  assured,  as  he  is  not  only  raised  above  mere  instinct, 
but  also  freed  from  the  fetters  of  selfish  egoism.  The  ego 
finds  its  completion  in  God ;  and  in  giving  himself  to  God, 
man  truly  possesses  his  soul.  At  every  stage  of  this  evolution, 
when  it  is  normally  realized,  the  will  is  the  great  agent  of 
progress.  By  means  of  it,  man  partially  forms  himself.  To 
will  is  for  him  to  be  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  for  it  is  the 
only  means  of  separating  him  from  that  which  is  not  his  true 
self,  from  that  which  keeps  him  in  bondage,  from  that  which 
Plato  called  the  other ;  in  a  word,  from  the  passive  life  which 
enshrouds  the  ego  in  a  lower  life  foreign  to  its  essential  nature. 
Such  appears  to  us  the  psychological  evolution  of  the  human 
ego.  We  have  now  to  vindicate  these  assertions  in  view  of 
the  objections  urged  against  them  by  other  schools  of  thought. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  RELATIONS  OF   THE  PHYSICAL  AND   THE  MORAL. 

MATERIALISM  has  in  all  ages  pretended  to  explain  the  intellec- 
tual superiority  of  man  by  his  higher  physical  organism.  It 
attempts  to  establish  an  exact  correlation  between  the  two. 
His  upright  posture  and  the  delicate  articulations  of  his  hand 
would  at  once  have  assured  his  pre-eminence  in  the  animal 
kingdom ;  but  that  which  most  of  all  places  him  at  an  advan- 
tage, is  the  admirable  organisation  of  his  brain.  If  he  thinks, 
he  is  indebted  for  the  power  of  thought  to  this  wonderful  organ. 
Let  us  inquire  if  duly  ascertained  facts  bear  out  these 
assertions.  Here  again  we  must  draw  attention  to  the  dis- 
tinction so  often  ignored,  between  the  conditions  of  existence 
and  its  essential  principle.  We  admit  most  categorically  that 
the  psychical,  intellectual,  and  moral  life  of  man  is  connected 
with  his  physical  life ;  that  the  former  cannot  exist  without 
the  latter,  at  least  under  present  conditions ;  in  a  word,  that 
there  is  mutual  interaction  between  the  two.  But  we  must  not, 
as  is  too  often  done,  suppose  that  there  is  only  one  kind  of 
interaction — that  of  the  physical  upon  the  moral  nature — for- 
getting that  the  moral  exerts  an  equally  powerful  influence  upon 
the  physical.  A  thought,  a  feeling,  not  originating  in  any  out- 
ward stimulus,  gives  a  sudden  impulse  to  the  circulation,  or 
seems  to  stop  the  beating  of  the  heart  as  certainly  as  a  change 
in  the  brain  tissue  helps  or  hinders  intellectual  work.  It  is 
contrary  to  the  best  authenticated  facts  to  recognise  only  the 
influence  of  the  physical  on  the  moral,  without  admitting  the 

256 


RELATIONS  OF  THE  PHYSICAL  AND  THE  MORAL.  257 

converse.  We  endorse  all  Mr.  Bain's  acute  and  just  observa- 
tions on  this  subject  in  his  interesting  book.1  With  perfect 
justice,  and  taking  as  his  data  very  carefully  made  experiments, 
he  shows  that  sensation,  like  thought,  is  governed  by  certain 
constant  laws ;  that  both  require  the  stimulus  of  a  change  to 
make  them  conscious  of  things  within  their  competence,  and 
that  both  the  one  and  the  other  acquire  increased  intensity  in 
proportion  to  the  more  extended  sphere  in  which  they  are 
exercised,  giving  scope  for  more  numerous  comparisons.  Only 
Mr.  Bain  carries  too  far  this  parallelism  between  the  physical 
and  the  moral.  The  will  he  regards  as  nothing  more  than  the 
instinct  which  urges  man  to  seek  pleasure  and  to  flee  pain. 
He  thus  ignores  the  true  character  of  this  important  quality, 
which  raises  instinctive  to  reflective  and  conscious  life. 

His  analysis  of  the  reason  is  altogether  inadequate.  He 
ignores  its  highest  operations,  those  which  rise  from  the 
particular  to  the  general  and  universal.  Memory  is  only 
an  accumulation  of  nervous  vibrations.  Every  intellectual 
acquisition  is  connected  with  an  independent  nerve  fibre. 
Here  we  have  no  longer  the  union  of  the  mind  with  the 
body;  but  the  absorption  of  the  mind  in  the  body.  It  is 
impossible  to  understand  how,  after  such  conclusions,  the 
author  can  maintain  that  the  proper  characteristic  of  the  mind 
is  want  of  extension,  while  matter  always  has  extension.  This 
proposition  is  hard  to  reconcile  with  the  following  declara- 
tion :  "  The  one  substance,  with  two  sets  of  properties,  two 
sides,  the  physical  and  the  mental,— a  double-faced  unity, — 
would  appear  to  comply  with  all  the  exigencies  of  the  case."  2 

This  is  certainly  an  easy  way  of  settling  the  difficulty,  for 
Bain  has  not  really  reconciled  the  two  terms  of  the  problem, 
but  has  rather  sacrificed  the  psychical  life  entirely  to  the 
physical.  He  has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  mind  is 
completely  at  the  mercy  of  the  body.  Yet  he  seems  to  feel 

1  "  Mind  and  Body."     Alexander  Bain. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  196. 


258  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

the  insufficiency  of  his  theory,  as  the  following  passage 
indicates .  "  We  have  something  beyond  the  usual  endow- 
ments of  natural  things,  in  the  possibility  of  stoiing  up  in 
three  pounds'  weight  of  a  fatty  and  albuminous  tissue  done 
into  fine  threads  and  corpuscles,  all  these  complicated 
groupings  that  make  our  natural  and  acquired  aptitudes  and 
all  our  knowledge.  If  there  were  sermons  in  stones,  we  should 
be  less  astonished  when  they  proceed  from  brains." l 

I.  THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT. 

Pure  materialists  see  no  difficulty  in  finding  sermons  in  stones, 
or  in  finding  the  whole  intellectual  life  contained  in  "  three 
pounds'  weight  of  a  fatty  and  albuminous  tissue."  This  is 
brought  out  very  clearly  in  the  learned  writings  of  Luys, 
Maudsley,  and  Bastian.3  Let  us  briefly  give  the  outlines 
of  this  important  question  of  the  relations  of  the  brain  and 
thought.  "  The  brain,  or  upper  expansion  of  the  spinal  cord, 
and  chief  organ  of  the  central  nervous  life,  is  ovoid  in  form, 
the  larger  end  being  anterior  and  cleft  into  two  symmetrical 
hemispheres  united  by  the  corpus  callosum.  Each  hemisphere 
is  divided  into  four  regions  or  lobes.  Its  surface  is  covered 
with  complicated  furrows  and  ridges,  called  the  convolutions. 
The  spinal  cord,  as  it  joins  the  base  of  the  brain,  expands  into 
the  medulla  oblongata^  and  this  divides  into  two  prolonga- 
tions, the  crura  cerebri,  one  passing  into  each  hemisphere. 
At  the  base  are  seated  two  very  important  pairs  of  promi- 
nences, the  corpora  striata  and  the  optic  thalami.  In  cross-sec- 
tion the  brain  is  seen  to  be  made  up  of  two  distinct  substances, 
the  grey  and  the  white.  The  grey  matter  surrounds  the 

1  "  Mind  and  Body,"  Alexander  Bain,  p.   89. 

2  "The    Brain  and  its  Functions,"  Luys  ;   "  The  Philosophy  of  Mind," 
Maudsley;   "The  Brain  as  an  Organ  of  Mind,"  Bastian.     Dr.   Bastian 
works  out  the  psychological  and  physiological  theories  of  Herbert  Spencer, 
applying  to  the  brain  and  to  thought  the  principle  of  progress  by  growing 
differentiation. 


THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT.  259 

central  canal  of  the  cerebro-spinal  axis,  it  forms  the  surface  or 
cortical  layer  of  the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum.  Its  essential 
constituent  is  the  nerve  or  ganglion  cell.  The  white  substance 
makes  up  the  body  of  the  lobes,  and  forms  the  peripheral 
parts  of  the  spinal  cord.  Its  essential  constituent  is  the 
nerve  fibre."  * 

Liiys  and  Maudsley  both  hold  that  the  whole  intellectual 
and  moral  life  of  man  is  explained  by  the  physical  operations 
of  the  brain.  It  proceeds  entirely  from  the  properties  of  the 
nervous  elements  inherent  in  the  brain  \vithout  the  intervention 
at  any  stage  of  an  agent  of  a  higher  order.  These  properties 
may  be  classed  under  three  heads  :  First. — Sensibility,  by  virtue 
of  which  the  central  cell  comes  into  contact  with  its  environ- 
ment. Second. — Organic  'phosphorescence,'  which  gives  it 
the  property  of  storing  up  in  itself  and  retaining  the  sensory 
vibrations,  as  in  the  inorganic  world  we  see  phosphorescent 
bodies  retain  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time  traces  of  the  luminous 
vibrations  which  have  passed  through  them.  Third. — Auto- 
matism, or  the  aptitude  possessed  by  the  nervous  cell  of 
reacting  on  its  environment  whenever  it  has  received  an  im- 
pression from  it. 

It  is  by  the  combination  of  these  properties  and  the  sum- 
mation of  their  energies  that  the  brain  feels,  remembers,  and 
reacts.  "  Sensibility  is  always  the  first  step  towards  motility, 
and  is  the  preliminary  to  all  movement.  After  being  con- 
ducted through  the  sensory-motor  mechanism  of  the  cortex, 
it  is  transformed  insensibly  into  motive  power,  and  is  mani- 
fested at  length  as  a  jnotor  act  remote  from  the  nervous 
centre."  2 

It  is  clear  that  everything  is  traced  back  to  sensation,  that 
is  to  say  to  the  action  of  the  outer  world.  "The  various 
processes  of  the  action  of  the  brain  are  all  comprised  in  a 

1  I  take  this  description  of  the  brain  from  Dr.  Surbler's  article  in  the 
"Correspondent,"  April  loth,  1881. 

2  "  The  Brain  and  its  Functions,"  Luys,  preface,  pp.  viii.,  ix. 


260  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

cyclic  motion  of  absorption  and  restitution  of  force.  It  is  the 
outer  world  with  all  its  various  stimuli  which  finds  an  entrance, 
by  means  of  the  senses,  under  the  form  of  sense-excitation; 
and  it  is  this  same  outer  world,  modified  and  refracted  by  its 
close  contact  with  the  living  tissues  through  which  it  has 
passed,  which  emerges  from  the  organism  and  finds  its 
external  reflexion  in  the  various  manifestations  of  voluntary 
motion."  l 

All  spontaneity,  all  proper  activity,  all  free-will,  is  thus  set 
aside,  the  voluntary  act  being  nothing  more  than  the  reaction 
of  sensibility.  It  is  sensibility  which,  being  everywhere  pre- 
sent and  everywhere  vibrating,  inspires  our  words,  our  writings, 
our  acts,  following  the  instinctive  appetites  which  determine  its 
attractions  and  repulsions.2  Personal  interest  is  the  sole  mo- 
tive of  human  conduct,  the  all-powerful  magnet  which  guides  it; 
self-devotion  is  but  a  disguised  form  of  egoism.  It  is  easy  to 
imagine  what  the  personality  becomes  in  such  a  system.  The 
unity  of  the  ego  is  nothing  more  than  the  accord  into  which  all 
outward  stimuli  are  automatically  attuned,  when,  after  traversing 
the  series  of  connected  cells  forming  the  cortex,  they  reach  the 
common  locus  which  acts  as  a  great  receiver-general.  This  re- 
ceiving area,  localised  in  the  region  of  the  corpora  striata  and 
optic  thalami)  may  be  called  the  sensorium  commune.  Past  and 
present  stimuli  are  blended  in  this  living  receptacle ;  it  is  like 
an  animated  piano  which  harmonises  all  its  tones  into  one 
accord.3 

Maudsley  arrives  at  the  very  same  conclusions.  To  him 
mind  is  only  a  generalisation,  a  metaphysical  abstraction  of 
the  nervous  and  cerebral  phenomena.  Mental  activity 
depends  absolutely  on  the  structure  and  nutrition  of  the 
brain.  The  history  of  intelligence  is  identical  \\ith  that  <--f 
the  nervous  system ;  it  is  in  exact  relation  with  the  cerebral 

1  "The  Brain  and  its  Functions,"  Luy%    ,-,  258. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  255.  3  Ibi<l    ).  121. 


THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT.  261 

convolutions.  The  differences  between  man  and  the  animal 
are  in  exact  correspondence  with  the  development  of  the 
physical  organ  of  thought.  The  unity  of  the  consciousness 
is  explained  by  the  union  of  the  two  cerebral  hemispheres. 
The  ego  is  nothing  more  than  the  unity  of  the  organism. 
Further,  consciousness  is  not  the  essential  factor  of  mind,  it 
is  only  a  secondary  attribute.  The  nervous  centres  are  the 
seat  at  once  of  the  ideas,  the  emotions,  and  the  will ;  without 
there  being  any  necessity  to  attempt  a  definite  specialisation 
of  the  various  modes  of  cerebral  activity  in  the  cortical  layers. 
The  activity  which  begins  in  the  posterior  convolutions,  com- 
municates itself  to  the  anterior,  where  it  is  transformed  into 
acts  and  words.1  Maudsley  concludes  by  congratulating  him- 
self on  having  succeeded  in  altogether  eliminating  internal 
experience,  so  as  to  arrive  at  the  true  facts  of  consciousness. 
Dr.  Bastian,  in  the  last  chapter  of  his  book  on  the  brain  and 
mind,  affirms  that  intelligence  ought  to  proceed  from  the  or- 
ganic life ;  otherwise  we  are  compelled  to  leave  the  simple 
natural  way,  and  to  admit  a  supernatural  element,  that  is  to  say, 
to  proceed  on  another  principle  than  simple  natural  develop- 
ment, which  is  always  purely  physical  and  mechanical.  It  is 
true  that  the  author  recognises  that  the  experimental  proof 
of  this  processus  is  still  wanting,  and  he  formulates  his  conclu- 
sion as  a  sort  of  postulate. 

We  can  easily  imagine  how,  following  in  the  steps  of  these 
eminent  physiologists,  and  taking  advantage  of  their  great 
labours,  without  investigating  them,  the  daring  popu- 
larisers  of  materialistic  doctrines  vaunt  in  tones  of  triumph 
their  assertions  of  the  identity  of  the  brain  and  thought. 
"  The  organism  is  the  man  himself,"  says  M.  Andre*  Lefevre. 
"  Intelligence  is  the  result  of  organic  phenomena.  Con- 
sciousness begins  only  in  an  annular  protuberance,  in  which 
the  fasciculi  of  the  medulla  meet"  2  "  The  grey  matter  of  the 

1  "  The  Physiology  of  Mind."     Maudsley. 
f  "  Philosophic,"  Lefevre,  pp.  313,  320. 


262  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

cortex,"  says  M.  Le'tourneau,  "  is  the  conscious  and  thinking 
part ;  thought  is  only  a  function  of  the  nervous  centres."  l 

We  have  a  brief  refutation  to  offer  to  these  sweeping  asser- 
tions of  materialism  as  to  the  close  connexion  between  mind 
and  the  brain.  First  of  all,  we  dispute  the  conclusions  drawn 
from  purely  physiological  experiments,  even  when  perfected 
by  the  fullest  aid  of  vivisection.  "  Physiological  experiment," 
as  is  well  said  by  M.  de  Broglie  in  his  book  on  Positivism, 
"is  always  brought  to  bear  on  the  instrument  of  the  mind, 
and  on  that  instrument  alone.  Neither  the  mind  (in  the  most 
materialistic  conception  of  it)  nor  its  operation  is  ever  re- 
vealed by  the  scalpel;  it  is  perceived  solely  by  internal  obser- 
vation, which  differs  in  toto  from  external  experiment.  The 
latter,  moreover,  can  only  be  applied  to  the  brains  of  animals, 
and  to  these  only  in  a  dead  or  inactive  state.  To  say  that 
the  brain  thinks  because  a  certain  correlation  is  observable 
between  thought  and  the  physical  condition  of  the  brain,  is 
to  demand  from  external  experiment  that  which  it  is  not 
competent  to  give ;  for  thought,  by  its  method  and  essential 
nature,  eludes  it." z  Internal  phenomena,  from  their  very 
nature,  cannot  be  either  seen  or  touched;  the  scalpel  and 
the  microscope  alike  fail  to  reveal  them,  they  can  only  be 
perceived  by  one  faculty — consciousness. 

If  it  is  maintained  that  external  experiment  is  at  least  com- 
petent to  localise  the  operations  of  the  intellect,  by  showing 
how  the  mental  faculties  are  impaired  in  animals  which  have 
undergone  the  mutilation  of  some  particular  part  of  the  brain, 
we  reply,  first,  that  this  localisation  is  gravely  contested  with 
reference  to  properly  intellectual  operations.  It  is  only  ascer- 
tained certainly  with  regard  to  sensation  and  motion.  Dr. 
Surbler,  in  a  learned  article  in  which  he  sums  up  the  latest 
results  of  science  in  relation  to  cerebral  localisation,  says; 
"  The  brain  as  a  whole  is  an  organ  of  motion  and  of  sensi- 

1  "Science  et  Materialisme,"  Letourneau. 

*  "  Le  Positivisme,"  M.  1'Abbe  de  Broglie,  p.  241. 


THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT.  263 

bility.  The  intelligence,  which  old  physiologists  localised  in 
the  cortical  layers,  is  no  longer  believed  to  reside  there ;  its 
relative  independence  and  peculiar  nature  are  now  recognised." 
Physiologists  who  are  the  most  decided  in  the  opinion  that 
the  intellectual  life  is  merely  an  operation  of  the  brain,  have 
acknowledged  that  it  is  impossible  to  localise  distinctly  its 
various  functions.  M.  Luys  says  :  "  So  far,  it  has  been  found 
wholly  impossible  to  arrive  at  exact  statements  of  the  real 
constitution  and  topographical  situation  of  the  field  of  intel- 
lectual activity,  properly  so  called."1  Maudsley  says:  "In 
the  present  state  of  physiological  science,  it  is  quite  impos- 
sible to  ascertain  by  observation  and  experiment  the  nature 
of  those  organic  processes  which  are  the  bodily  conditions  of 
mental  phenomena,"2  Even  supposing  that  the  localisation 
of  the  intellectual  operations  in  the  brain  were  demonstrated 
— which  it  is  not — it  would  simply  argue  a  greater  dependence 
of  the  mental  function  in  relation  to  its  organ  ;  the  assimilation 
between  the  function  and  the  organ  would  be  in  no  degree 
proved.  It  is  certain  that  the  brain  can  act  with  only  one  of 
its  hemispheres.  M.  Henri  de  Varigny  says  :  "  Lesions  affect- 
ing only  one  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres  generally  remain 
latent.  There  is  no  sign  indicative  of  the  pathological  dis- 
turbance, and  one  seems  almost  forced  to  admit  in  such  a 
case  functional  substitution,  that  is  to  say,  the  possibility  of 
the  regular  operation  of  two  homologous  sensitive  regions, 
in  spite  of  the  absence  of  one  of  the  two  corresponding 
cerebral  centres."3  M.  de  Varigny  lays  stress  on  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  observations  hitherto  made  to  verify  the  locali- 
sation of  the  intellectual  faculties ;  but  the  objection  thus 
raised  is  nevertheless  a  very  grave  one.  Taking  his  stand 
on  Dr.  Ferrier's  experiments,  he  seems,  however,  much  in- 
clined to  admit  the  localisation  of  the  intellectual  faculties, 

1  "  The  Brain  and  its  Functions,"  Luys,  p.  181. 

2  "The  Physiology  of  Mind,"  Maudsley,  p.  12. 
8  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  Oct.  15,  1880. 


264  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

while  at  the  same  time  acknowledging  that  experimental 
science  is  very  far  from  having  attained  certainty  on  the 
point.  "  More  facts,"  he  says,  "  are  necessary.  Those  we 
possess  only  constitute  a  strong  presumption." 

To  conclude.  We  do  not  call  in  question  the  relations  of 
the  moral  to  the  physical ;  it  is  their  identity  only  we  dispute. 
Unless  it  be  maintained  that  if  two  forces  come  in  contact 
with  each  other  the  one  must  become  lost  in  the  other,  the  un- 
doubted fact  of  the  close  relations  between  intellect  and  the 
brain  does  not  justify  us  in  concluding  that  they  are  one  and 
the  same. 

Materialism  thinks  it  has  triumphantly  established  its  point 
by  applying  to  thought  the  principle  of  the  transformation  of 
energy,  and  affirming  that,  just  as  the  vibrations  of  the  ether 
are  transformed  into  light  and  heat,  they  may  in  the  brain  be 
transformed  into  thought.  But,  as  M.  Janet  observes  very 
justly,  when  motion  is  transformed  into  light  or  heat,  there 
is  no  real  transformation,  since  the  result  still  consists  of 
vibrations  of  the  same  ether.  Transformation  only  really 
begins  with  the  sensation  of  light  or  of  heat,  for  this  is  a 
purely  subjective  fact  which  it  is  impossible  to  reduce  to 
motion.  This  induction  seems  far  more  impossible  when  it 
is  not  merely  sensation  but  thought  which  is  to  be  produced. 
To  apply  to  the  production  of  thought  the  theory  of  the 
transformation  of  fluid-motions,  is  a  mere  make-shift. 

We  are  thus  brought  to  the  decisive  invincible  objection  to 
the  unification  of  the  mind  and  brain,  I  mean  to  the  radical 
impossibility  of  rationally  identifying  motion  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  motion,  for  all  thought  translates  itself  into 
consciousness  of  an  event,  whether  physical  or  moral.  A 
molecular  vibration  is  one  thing,  the  feeling  of  that  vibration 
is  another.  M.  Luys  has  not  made  the  slightest  attempt  to 
establish  by  argument  that  vibration  is  conscious  of  itself. 
His  detailed,  often  brilliant,  descriptions  of  the  nervous  or- 
ganism in  its  convolutions,  its  complications,  and  in  its 


THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT.  265 

central  seat,  give  no  proof  at  all  that  this  nervous  system 
is  capable  of  producing  simultaneously  two  entirely  different 
things — motion  and  the  consciousness  of  motion.  There  is 
nothing  to  add  to  the  emphatic  declarations  of  the  most 
eminent  physiologists  of  our  age  on  this  subject.  "  We  may 
succeed,"  says  Ferrier,  "in  determining  the  exact  nature  of 
the  molecular  changes  which  take  place  in  the  cerebral  cell 
when  a  sensation  is  experienced,  but  this  will  not  bring  us 
one  step  nearer  to  the  explanation  of  the  fundamental  nature 
of  that  which  constitutes  sensation."1  Professor  Potain  says: 
"  We  are  profoundly  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  relation 
which  subsists  between  the  production  of  the  intellectual 
phenomena  and  the  functions  of  the  cells  of  the  cortical 
layers."  2 

Another  eminent  physiologist,  Professor  Griesinger,  says : 
"  How  a  material  physical  phenomenon,  taking  place  in  the 
nervous  fibres  or  ganglion  cells,  can  become  an  idea,  an  act  of 
consciousness,  is  absolutely  incomprehensible."  3  Materialism 
has  often  insisted  upon  the  constant  coincidence  existing  be- 
tween psychical  effort  and  internal  work  in  the  brain,  pro- 
ducing a  corresponding  amount  of  heat.  M.  Gavaret  asks  : 
"  What  relation  is  there  between  combustion  and  a  psychical 
manifestation  ?  What  common  measure  can  we  find  between 
a  certain  quantity  of  heat  consumed,  and  a  thought  given  out 
or  simply  conceived  ?  So  long  as  this  common  measure  is  not 
found  and  clearly  demonstrated,  we  shall  not  feel  ourselves 
warranted  to  affirm  that  cerebral  work  and  the  corresponding 
psychical  manifestation  differ  only  in  form,  that  both  efforts 
are  essentially  of  the  same  nature,  and  that  the  former  is  the 
adequate  cause  of  the  latter."4  M.  Charles  Dollfus  well  says  : 

1  "Functions  of  the  Brain."     Ferrier. 

2  "  Encyclopedic  des  Sciences  Medicales,  Pathologic  du  Cerveau,"  vol. 
xiv. ,  bcok  i. 

8  "Traite  des  Maladies  Mentales." 

4  "  Les  Phenomenes  Physiques  de  la  Vie,"  Gavaret. 


266  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

"  If  my  body  were  the  same  thing  as  that  which  perceives  my 
body,  how  could  I  perceive  it  ?  I  should  have  to  say,  '  My 
head  has  the  head-ache/  " l 

The  idea  of  mind  is  not  exhausted  by  the  fact  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  motion;  it  has  also  consciousness  of  itself;  it  feels 
itself  a  unity  capable  of  controlling  the  diversity  of  phenomena 
— a  persistent  unity.  How  could  this  consciousness  of  a  per- 
sistent ego  be  produced  by  a  material  organ,  essentially  mul- 
tiple, and  divisible  even  in  its  finest  and  most  delicate  parts  ? 
How  could  the  unity  and  simplicity  of  the  ego  be  evolved  from 
this  aggregate  of  innumerable  cells?  It  is  not  possible  to 
derive  an  indivisible  consciousness  from  a  divisible  aggregate. 
The  brain,  the  organ  of  thought,  no  more  thinks  than  the  eye, 
the  organ  of  vision,  sees.2 

Nothing  is  gained  by  speaking  of  that  sensorium  commune  in 
which  the  unity  of  the  ego  is  mechanically  effected,  for  this 
sensorium  is  itself  simply  a  compound  of  thousands  of  atoms ; 
it  can  only  give  that  which  it  has,  namely,  the  very  opposite  of 
unity.  There  is  not  one  operation  of  the  mind  which  does 
not  imply  a  power  of  unification.  To  generalise,  to  abstract, 
lo  compare,  to  conceive  the  universal,  ail  these  various  modes 
of  its  higher  activity  imply  that  it  is  superior  to  the  multiple 
and  the  diverse,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  unalterable  conditions  of 
matter,  and  consequently  that  it  cannot  be  identified  with  any 
material  organ,  even  with  the  most  perfect  of  all — the  brain. 
The  sensorium  commune,  of  which  M.  Luys  speaks,  reminds 
one  of  the  famous  comparisons  which  Diderot  makes  in  his 
"  Reve  de  d'Alembert,"  between  the  nervous  network,  the  living 
register  of  all  sensations,  and  the  spider,  who,  seated  in  the 
centre  of  his  web,  feels  the  oscillation  of  the  finest  fibre,  and 
by  his  movements  shows  that  he  is  aware  of  all  that  is  going 
on  in  every  corner  of  his  domicile.  The  analogy  is  wholly 
misleading.  In  truth,  the  spider  is  distinct  from  the  fibres  of 

1  ''L'Ame  dans  ses  Phenomenes  de  Conscience,"  Charles  Dollfus,  p.  28. 

2  Ibid. 


THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT.  267 

his  web,  while,  as  M.  Caro  justly  observes,  the  nervous  network 
is  only  an  aggregate  of  molecules  which  form  part  of  our  own 
substance.  "By  what  privilege  of  a  central  position  does  it 
become  the  register  of  our  sensations  ?  When  from  all  the 
extremities  of  the  nervous  network,  sense-impressions,  isolated 
and  successive,  without  the  power  of  recalling  anything,  have 
been  transmitted  to  the  common  centre,  how  can  they  trans- 
form themselves  into  one  identical,  continuous  consciousness, 
and  become  in  the  man  the  principle  of  the  highest  faculties 
of  abstraction,  reasoning,  and  invention?"1 

The  distinction  between  the  mind  and  the  brain  does  not 
throw  any  doubt  on  the  fact  of  their  correlation.  That  corre- 
lation is  obvious ;  the  mind  cannot  carry  on  its  operations 
without  the  brain,  any  more  than  the  musician  can  perform 
without  his  instrument.  Only  the  correlation  must  not  be 
exaggerated.  Gall's  phrenology,  which  established  an  exact 
correspondence  between  the  form  of  the  cranium  and  the 
intellectual  faculties,  has  long  been  abandoned.  It  has  been 
proved  that  the  external  conformation  of  the  brain  does  not 
correspond  to  its  internal  conformation,  that  it  conceals  rather 
than  exhibits  it.  Experimenters  then  fell  back  upon  the  weight 
and  measurements  of  the  cranium,  for  arriving  at  which  most 
ingenious  appliances  were  contrived.  The  cranial  capacity 
alone  proves  nothing,  for,  according  to  recent  cubic  measure- 
ments, the  Kanaka  would  be  on  the  same  level  as  the  Irish- 
man, and  English  women  would  be  below  Chinese  women  or 
the  negresses  of  Dahomey.2  According  to  M.  Broca's  cubic 
measurement,  the  Esquimaux  would  have  the  same  cranial 
volume  as  Parisians  (Parisians,  1558;  Esquimaux,  1539). 
The  weight  of  the  brain  furnishes  no  more  conclusive  results 
than  the  measurements  of  cranial  capacity,  even  where  the 
proportion  of  the  brain  to  the  height  and  weight  of  the  animal 

1  "  La  Fin  d'un  Siecle,"  Caro,  vol.  Hi.,  p.  230. 

2  Kanakas,  1470  c.c. ;  Irishmen,  14720.0.     Dahomey  negresses,  1249; 
English  women,  1222. 


268  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

has  been  determined.  In  man,  the  proportion  is  2  to  47  ;  in 
the  dolphin,  i  to  66;  in  the  elephant,  i  to  500;  in  the  striated 
monkey,  i  to  28  ;  in  the  canary,  i  to  14. 

It  is  certainly  impossible  to  reckon  the  intelligence  of  the 
dolphin  above  that  of  the  elephant;  and  of  the  striated 
monkey  and  the  canary  above  that  of  man.  Naturalists  have 
restricted  themselves  therefore  to  making  the  weight  of  the 
brain  the  measure  of  mental  development  only  in  the  human 
species.  We  are  told  of  the  weight  of  brain  of  celebrated 
men,  which  exceeds  the  average  weight, — 1510  grammes. 
The  brain  of  Cuvier  weighed  1831  grammes,  but  against  this 
is  set  a  brain  found  in  the  war  in  America,  which  weighed  1842 
grammes.  This  test  is  a  very  difficult  one  to  apply,  for  so 
much  depends  on  the  age  and  the  state  of  health  of  the  in- 
dividuals whose  brains  are  weighed.  There  is  nothing  decisive 
in  the  comparison  of  the  weight  of  human  brains  belonging  to 
different  races.  In  the  matter  of  weight,  the  advantage  would 
seem  to  be  with  the  negro.  Negresses,  in  this  respect,  are 
above  French  women  (1232  grammes,  against  1210).  A  com- 
parison of  the  cerebral  convolutions  leaves  us  equally  at  fault. 
We  find  smooth  non-convoluted  brains  in  animals  remarkable 
for  their  instinct,  such  as  the  squirrel  and  the  rat.  The  sheep 
has  the  advantage  over  the  dog  in  the  matter  of  convolutions ; 
and  in  cerebral  ridges  and  furrows,  the  ass  carries  the  palm.1 
The  importance  attached  by  Moleschott  to  the  amount  of 
phosphorus  in  the  composition  of  the  brain,  is  disproved  by 
undeniable  facts,  as  for  instance,  that  this  substance  abounds 
in  the  brain  of  fishes.2 

The  volume  of  the  frontal  lobes  fails  in  like  manner  to  supply 
a  decisive  criterion ;  there  have  been  men  of  high  intelligence, 
like  Lace'pede,  with  receding  foreheads.  Dr.  Lelut  has  shown 
that  the  frontal  region  is  more  developed  in  imbeciles  than  \\\ 
men  of  average  intelligence.  Tn  the  most  marked  cases  of 

1  See  Dr.  Surbler's  article  in  the  "Corresp"ndant,"  April,  1881. 
3  "  Le  Cerveau  et  la  Pensee,"  Janet,  p.  58. 


THE  BRAIN  AND  THOUGHT.  269 

mental  aberration,  there  is  no  evidence  of  cerebral  lesions, 
except  when  special  nervous  disorders,  like  paralysis,  have 
supervened.1  M.  Topinard  attributes  the  development  of 
intelligence  to  the  increase  in  thickness  of  the  grey  matter  of 
the  cortex  and  to  its  improvement  in  quality.  The  drawback 
to  this  criterion  is,  that  it  cannot  be  applied  ;  for  there  is  no 
instrument  capable  of  appraising  the  amelioration  of  the  quality 
of  the  grey  matter  of  the  cortex. 

That  which  appears  to  us  decisive  on  this  question  of  the 
relative  independence  of  the  mind  and  the  brain,  is  the  very 
slight  difference  which,  as  M.  Broca  tells  us,  exists  between 
the  brain  of  man  and  that  of  anthropoid  apes.  In  his  pa- 
per on  the  order  of  Primates  read  to  the  Anthropological 
Society,  he  says,  "  I  have  just  passed  in  review  all  the 
anatomical  and  morphological  characteristics,  by  means  of 
which  it  has  been  attempted  to  distinguish  the  human  type  of 
brain  from  that  of  the  other  Primates.  These  distinguishing 
characteristics  are  sometimes  altogether  illusory,  and  some- 
times so  faint  that  they  leave  but  a  very  small  interval  between 
man  and  the  anthropoids.  It  was  never  more  evident  that 
from  a  zoological  point  of  view,  man  differs  less  from  certain 
monkeys  that  these  differ  from  other  monkeys." 2  No  one, 
I  think,  will  dispute  that  an  immeasurable  interval  divides  man 
intellectually  from  the  anthropoids  whose  brain  bears  such 
testimony  in  their  favour.  Could  there  be  a  more  decisive 
proof  of  the  disproportion  between  the  organ  of  the  mind  and 
the  mind  itself?  The  brain  of  the  monkey, — a  creature  wholly 
subject  to  its  grosser  instincts,  incapable  of  progress,  leading 
a  purely  animal  life  in  the  thick  forests  which  resound  with 
its  inarticulate  chatter, —  is  almost  identical  with  that  of  man, 
the  king  of  creation.  Who  will  dare  still  to  maintain  that  the 
progress  of  thought  is  to  be  measured  by  the  development  of 
its  organ  ?  How  can  we  fail  to  feel  the  force  of  the  conclusion 

1  "Le  Cerveau  et  la  Pensee,"  Janet,  chap.  iv. 

2  "Memoires  d'Anthropologie  Zoologique  et  Biologique,"  Broca,  p.  139. 


270  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

of  an  illustrious  savant,  quoted  by  M.  Broca.  "  Man,  by  his 
form,  his  structure,  by  the  general  disposition  of  his  organs,  is 
a  monkey ;  but  by  his  intelligence,  by  the  creations  of  his 
thought,  man  is  a  god."  Without  raising  man  to  such  a  height 
as  this,  we  feel  that  thought  certainly  cannot  be  confounded 
with  its  physical  organ,  though,  under  the  present  conditions 
of  man's  life  it  is  linked  to  it,  and  depends  for  its  normal 
operation  on  the  soundness  and  perfection  of  the  cerebral 
organism.  All  we  contend  for  is,  that  this  dependence  should 
be  recognised  as  only  relative  ;  then  the  dignity  of  intellect  is 
maintained,  and  it  cannot  be  made  contingent  in  its  essence 
on  a  purely  material  accident,  such  as  a  cerebral  lesion,  or  that 
complete  breaking  up  of  the  physical  organism  which  we  call 
death.1 

II.  OBJECTIONS  DRAWN  FROM  THE  IDEA  OF  MOTION. 

After  having  assimilated  thought  to  cerebral  motion,  the 
materialist's  next  step  is  to  reduce  motion  to  pure  mechanism, 
thus  eliminating  every  spiritual  element  from  man  and  trans- 
forming the  will  into  a  mere  mechanical  revolution  governed 
by  laws  of  physical  necessity.  Man  is  denuded  of  all  spiritu- 
ality, all  free  will,  and  is  held  in  passive  subordination  to  the 
laws  of  matter.  It  is  this  idea  of  motion  which  we  propose 
now  to  analyse,  to  ascertain  if  it  corresponds  to  the  reality. 

1  We  cannot  too  cordially  commend  to  our  readers  M.  Janet's  excellent 
work  on  this  question  :  "  Le  Cerveau  et  la  Pensee."  See  also  M.  Manou- 
vrier's  article  on  the  weight  of  the  encephalon  ("  Revue  Scientifique,"  June 
2,  1882).  The  writer  insists  on  the  necessity,  in  taking  measurements 
of  the  brain,  of  observing  the  various  elements,  such  as  the  proportion 
to  the  stature  and  the  pathological  condition.  He  points  out  that  inferior 
races  of  high  stature  surpass  the  more  civilized  races  in  cranial  capacity. 
"  Intellect,"  he  says,.  "  is  not  to  be  measured  by  the  relative  weight  any 
more  than  by  the  absolute  weight  of  the  encephalon."  He  holds  never- 
theless, that  there  is  a  close  correlation  between  the  brain  and  thought ; 
but  this  correlation  can  be  in  no  sense  absolute  after  the  admission  quoted 
above. 


MECHANICAL  AND  SPONTANEOUS  MOTION.         271 

The  objection  we  have  to  meet  presents  itself  under  t\vo  foims ; 
the  first  is  based  upon  reflex  action,  and  the  second  upon  the 
application  to  man  of  the  well-known  law  of  the  conserva- 
tion of  energy.  We  shall  look  at  both  objections. 

Reflex  motion  is  mechanical  motion,  which  is  produced, 
without  our  being  conscious  of  it,  by  the  influence  of  external 
excitation.  A  man  who  lays  his  hand  upon  a  burning  body 
withdraws  it  instinctively,  without  thinking  or  willing  the  act 
of  withdrawal.  In  this  case  there  is  an  exact  proportion 
between  the  external  exciting  cause  and  the  motion  produced. 
Even  when  the  nervous  centre  of  sensation  has  been  removed, 
as  when  a  frog  has  been  beheaded,  the  nerves,  if  subjected  to 
electrical  excitation,  will  produce  motions  precisely  similar  to 
those  of  perfect  life.  Hence  it  is  concluded  that  motion  in  the 
living  creature  is  in  itself  nothing  more  than  the  external 
restitution  of  the  primary  external  motion.  The  nervous 
system  has  received  impressions  which  it  has  restored  under 
the  influence  of  excitement ;  this  is  reflex  motion,  that  is  to 
say,  essential,  typical  reflex  action.  For  however  various  and 
complex  they  may  seem  to  be,  the  functions  of  the  nervous 
system  are  always  associated  with  the  simple  and  elementary 
form  which  constitutes  reflex  motion.  Thought,  which  is  it- 
self also  motion,  becomes,  by  the  proper  activity  of  the  animal, 
purely  a  transformation  of  the  actual  motion  of  external  matter. 
In  the  case  of  cerebral  as  of  all  other  motion,  there  is  per- 
fect equation  between  the  motion  imparted  and  the  motion 
returned. 

We  have  two  arguments  to  urge  against  this  theory  of 
motion.1  There  is  no  adequate  reason  for  recognising  no  mo- 
tion but  reflex  motion,  and  for  determining  the  true  character 
and  idea  of  motion  by  its  lowest  type.  By  what  right  is  every 
other  form  of  motion  ignored,  in  which  we  perceive  between 

1  See  Dr.  Chauffard's  chapter  on  "  La  Spontaneite,  Vivante  et  le  Mou- 
vement,"  in  his  book,  "La  Vie,  £tudes  des  Problemes  de  Physiologic 
Generate." 


272  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

the  external  excitation  and  its  restitution  the  fact  of  conscious 
sensation,  of  deliberation  and  resolution  ?  The  rapidity  of 
these  successive  acts  does  not  affect  the  question  ;  time  is 
no  element  in  it.  As  M.  de  Broglie  says:  "Deliberate  and 
conscious  movement  is  composed  of  three  parts  : — 

"  First. — A  physiological  circuit,  which  passes  through  the 
organs  of  the  senses,  ascends  the  sensitive  nerve,  reaches  the 
brain,  and  produces  sensation.  Second. — A  psychological 
circuit,  which  begins  with  sensation,  is  continued  in  perception 
and  deliberation,  and  terminates  in  resolution.  Third. — A 
second  physiological  circuit,  which,  starting  from  the  brain, 
runs  through  the  motor  nerves,  and  ends  in  movement."  1 

What  right  can  the  theorists  of  motion  have  to  pass  over 
in  absolute  silence  the  psychological  circuit  on  the  pretext 
that  it  is  not  always  traceable  ?  Is  not  conscious  effort  itself 
the  attestation  of  the  intellect  and  the  will  ?  There  is  then 
unquestionably  another  mode  of  motion  than  reflex  motion, 
even  when  there  has  been  external  excitation.  And  it  is  far 
more  evident  when  the  impulse  has  come  from  within,  not 
from  without.  In  addition  to  mechanical  motion,  there  is 
spontaneous  motion,  which  in  man  is  governed  by  reason  and 
deliberation.  The  character  of  this  spontaneous  motion  we 
shall  have  to  determine. 

Further  :  reflex  motion  itself  cannot  be  identified  with 
purely  mechanical  motion.  In  fact,  it  is  the  permanent 
characteristic  of  the  latter,  that  it  always  bears  an  exact  pro- 
portion to  its  stimulation,  and  cannot  render  either  more  or 
less  than  it  has  received.  As  soon  as  there  is  disproportion 
between  the  stimulus  received  and  the  motion  returned,  we 
are  taken  out  of  the  sphere  of  pure  mechanism.  For  instance, 
to  revert  to  the  example  so  frequently  quoted,  it  is  certain  that 
the  decapitated  frog  does  not  act  under  external  excitation  in 
the  same  way  as  the  living  frog.  The  dead  frog,  when  slightly 
pinched,  draws  in  its  foot ;  the  living  frog,  under  the  same 
1  "  Le  Positivisme,"  vol.  i.,  p.  254.  M.  1'Abbe  de  Broglie. 


MECHANICAL  AND  SPONTANEOUS  MOTION.        273 

treatment,  takes  a  leap  and  gets  out  of  the  way  of  the  experi- 
menter. We  find  a  difference  then  in  the  two  experiments,  in 
the  proportion  between  the  motion  received  and  that  returned. 
We  constantly  find,  also,  that  a  very  slight  motion  produces 
a  very  strong  impression.  The  gentlest  tickling  causes  violent 
contortions.  A  strong  reaction,  as  Gratiolet  observed,  may 
follow  a  very  slight  stimulation,  and  vice  versa.  The  nervous 
arc  is  not  then  a  mere  conductor.  We  must  allow  some  share 
to  spontaneity  even  in  reflex  motion. l 

Lastly,  reflex  motion  in  the  living  organism  always  tends 
to  safety ;  it  obeys  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  Now, 
tendency  to  an  end  and  mere  mechanical  action,  are  incom- 
patible ideas.  Hence,  reflex  motion  raises  us  above  mere 
mechanical  action,  and  gives  a  pre-intimation  of  the  truly 
spontaneous  motion  proper  to  the  living  organism. 

It  is  easy  to  prove  that  spontaneous  motion  differs  in  toto 
from  purely  mechanical  motion.  We  observe,  first,  that 
mechanical  motion  cannot  be  interrupted ;  external  excitation, 
once  produced  in  the  nervous  centres,  must  be  given  back 
without  delay  in  the  form  of  motion.  Now,  in  the  living 
organism,  there  are  constant  pauses  in  motion.  Motion  may 
be  latent  even  in  a  plant  or  an  animal  of  the  lower  orders, 
as  is  shown  by  the  familiar  phenomenon  of  revivification.  We 
all  know  that  vegetables  kept  in  some  dark  place,  from  which 
air,  sun,  and  moisture  are  excluded,  like  the  plants  found  in 
the  Egyptian  pyramids,  come  to  life  again  whenever  they  meet 
with  the  atmospheric  conditions  necessary  to  their  growth. 
There  is,  therefore,  something  more  than  mechanical  motion 
in  the  vegetable.  The  slow  incubation  of  morbific  germs 
points  to  the  same  conclusion.  Further,  motion  in  the  living 
organism,  and  specially  in  man,  is  stored  up  in  a  potential 
state.  It  is  only  partially  realised  at  irregular  intervals. 

This   fact   of   potentiality  is    altogether   incompatible  with 

1  "La  Vie  :  litude  des  Problemes  de  Physiologic  Gcnerale,"  Chauffard, 
P-  255- 

T 


274  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

purely  mechanical  laws,  according  to  which  the  atomic  changes 
of  position  succeed  each  other  without  interruption.  It  fellows 
that  spontaneous  motion  is  accelerated,  retarded,  or  interrupted 
by  causes  not  regulated  by  simply  mathematical  laws.  The 
fact  is,  that  in  man,  as  in  all  the  living  organisms,  motion  does 
not  depend  solely  upon  external  excitation,  but  also  upon  the 
internal  condition  of  the  subject.  Thus  it  is  recognised  that 
habit  largely  diminishes  the  intensity  of  a  shock  received  from 
the  outer  world.  Sensibility  becomes  deadened,  and  the 
reactions  produced  are  not  in  proportion  to  the  external 
impulse.  Fatigue  produces  the  same  effect.  Distraction  of 
mind  often  nullifies  external  stimuli  which  ought  to  produce 
paroxysmal  reactions  of  sensation  under  the  form  of  motion. 
There  is  not  then  a  correspondence  between  the  shock  received 
and  the  motion  produced ;  and  this  alone  is  enough  to  carry 
us  into  another  sphere  than  that  of  pure  mechanics. 

The  higher  the  living  organism  rises  in  the  scale  of  being,- 
the  more  this  spontaneity  of  motion,  which  is  at  first  feeble, 
and  is  almost  imperceptible  in  quite  the  lower  orders,  becomes 
strong  and  decided.  The  subject  of  external  stimuli  is  less 
and  less  passive,  its  proper  activity  diminishes  and  modifies 
the  impulse  received,  just  in  the  proportion  in  which  it 
becomes  self-possessed  or  conscious  of  itself.  When  the 
living  organism  is  a  moral  being,  like  man,  he  controls  the 
impulse  from  without,  though  he  never  shakes  off  its  influence, 
which  is  necessary  in  order  to  supply  the  materials  of  sensation. 
The  will,  guided  by  the  moral  consciousness,  can  control  the 
impulse  of  passion,  even  when  it  is  most  strongly  excited  by 
the  stimulation  of  the  senses. 

According  to  the  mechanical  theory,  the  stone  which  hits 
and  wounds  us,  ought  to  produce  an  irritation  exactly  corre- 
sponding to  the  force  of  the  blow  received.  Our  anger  at  the 
blow  ought  to  be  always  in  precise  ratio  to  the  shock  received, 
and  ought  to  express  itself  in  violent  acts  administered  in  the 
same  measure,  to  appease  our  irritation.  But  such  a  theory  is 


MECHANICAL  AND  SPONTANEOUS  MOTION.         275 

constantly  belied  by  facts.  Let. the  spirit  of  forgiveness  in- 
terpose, and  the  hand  remains  motionless,  and  there  is  no 
rendering  again  the  motion  received.  Moral  energy  perpetually 
modifies  the  proportion  between  the  impulse  which  comes  to 
us  from  without,  and  the  action  which  ought  to  be  its  exact 
restitution.  Lastly,  how  many  motions  have  their  origin  in  the 
subject  himself,  and  cannot  be  referred  to  any  external  impulse. 
All  the  acts  which  are  the  result  of  reflexion  are  of  this  class  ; 
they  attest  our  independence  of  mechanical  laws,  and  com- 
pletely disprove  the  theory  which  would  subordinate  us  unre- 
servedly to  them.  Here  again  we  find  the  distinction  between 
quantity  and  quality.  Quantity  alone  is  absolutely  subject  to 
mechanical  law,  while  quality  brings  with  it  the  possibility  of 
escaping  from  the  mechanical  law  while  still  recognising  its 
supremacy  in  its  proper  sphere. 

If,  passing  from  generalities,  we  turn  to  man  specially,  we 
shall  find  these  objections  acquiring  new  force.  We  refer  the 
reader  to  M.  Ernest  Naville's  admirable  article  in  the  "  Revue 
Philosophique  "  of  March,  1879,  entitled,  "  La  Physique  et  la 
Morale/'  He  shows  that,  supposing  motion  to  remain  the 
same  in  quantity, — which  the  law  of  the  conservation  of  energy 
requires, — it  may  be  modified  in  its  direction  both  in  space  and 
time.  Is  it  not  certain  that  a  locomotive  placed  on  a  horizontal 
line  of  rail  may  take  one  direction  or  another,  while  the  force 
which  impels  it  remains  the  same  ?  If  it  is  said  that  it  is  still 
motion  modifying  the  direction  of  motion,  and  that  we  are  thus 
still  within  mechanical  laws,  we  reply,  that  it  is  inexact  to  say 
that  all  energy  is  motion,  that  all  motion  has  an  anterior  motion 
as  its  cause ;  take,  for  instance,  chemical  affinity  or  attraction. 
The  force  of  resistance  which  is  in  the  body  and  which  modi- 
fies the  pre-existing  motion,  is  not  the  cause  of  any  impulse. 
Thus  motion  may  be  modified  in  its  direction  by  a  force  which 
is  not  mechanical.  In  the  case  of  the  living  organism,  the 
plastic  force  of  which  we  have  so  often  spoken  constantly 
changes,  as  Claude  Bernard  tells  us,  the  direction  of  its  physical 


276  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

motions  without  altering  their  quantity.  These  directing  and 
not  creating  forces  make  various  uses  of  physical  motion,  the 
sum  of  which  remains  the  same.  It  follows  that  the  conserva- 
tion of  energy  presents  no  obstacle  to  the  admission  of  plastic 
forces,  which,  without  being  motion,  are  causes  of  motion. 
Hence,  while  admitting  that  everything  in  the  human  body  is 
subject  to  physiological  determinism,  it  is  enough  for  the  main- 
tenance of  free-will,  that  there  are  elements  of  liberty  in  that 
which  controls  the  phenomena.  It  matters  nothing  that  man 
can  only  dispose  of  the  quantity  of  force  which  he  derives  from 
food,  air,  and  sunshine ;  it  is  enough  that  he  has  the  free  dis- 
position of  this  to  make  him  responsible  for  his  acts.  Freedom 
of  action  is  possible  when  once  we  recognise  as  belonging  to 
the  will,  that  obvious  power  of  direction  in  living  germs,  which 
does  not  change  the  sum  of  motion. 

What  we  have  said  of  space  applies  equally  to  time.  That 
which  remains  in  fixed  quantity  is  not  actual  motion,  it  is  the 
power  to  produce  motion.  I  do  not  create  energy,  but  I  dis- 
pose of  that  which  I  possess,  and  I  dispose  of  it  whenever  I 
please.  It  follows  that  if  freedom  of  action  and  responsibility 
exist,  the  law  of  conservation  of  energy  can  argue  nothing 
against  them. 

M.  Naville  sums  up  his  argument  in  these  words.  "What 
remains  to  the  will  ?  In  the  creation  of  energy,  nothing;  in  its 
direction,  everything.  This  is  enough  for  the  moral  world." 1 

1  A  learned  philosopher,  M.  Boussinesq,  has  endeavoured  to  vindicate 
the  part  of  free-will  in  opposition  to  purely  mechanical  laws,  by  turning  to 
account  a  well-known  geometrical  theory  known  as  that  of  "singular  solu- 
tions." "According  to  this  theory,"  says  M.  Boussinesq,  "there  would  be 
cases  of  complete  mechanical  indeterminateness,  that  is  to  say,  cases  in 
which  a  moving  body,  having  arrived  at  certain  points,  called  by  the  author 
points  of  bifurcation,  might  indifferently  take  any  one  of  two  or  more  direc- 
tions, and  would  in  either  case  satisfy  the  law  of  motion.  It  is  obvious  that 
on  such  a  supposition,  an  extra  physical  extra- mechanical  action  may  be  the 
directing  power." — M.  Janet's  review  of  M.  Boussinesq's  work.  See  two 
important  articles  by  M.  Renouvier  on  this  subject  in  the  "Critique  Philo- 
sophique,"  June  7  and  July  I,  1882. 


MECHANICAL  AND  SPONTANEOUS  MOTION.         277 

To  conclude.  In  relation  to  the  will,  as  to  thought,  we  do 
not  poise  the  physical  life  on  the  ether.  We  do  not  separate 
it  from  the  physiological  life  and  from  the  nervous  organism 
necessary  to  the  production  of  the  act,  as  to  the  production  of 
thought.  Mechanical  laws  may  be  accepted  as  one  of  the  con- 
ditions of  the  higher  life,  without  detriment  to  that  higher  life, 
if  only  it  is  understood  that  they  are  not  its  cause  and  that  they 
can  be  modified  in  their  application. 

We  fully  admit  that  both  action  and  thought  are  impossible 
without  a  process  in  the  brain  by  which  heat  is  disengaged ; 
only  thought  does  not  stand  in  absolute  relation  to  cerebral 
effort,  so  that  the  more  intense  the  cerebral  effort,  the  more 
elevated  the  thought.  The  brain  of  an  ignoramus  who  learns 
with  a  painful  struggle,  is  just  as  much  heated,  probably  more  so, 
than  that  of  a  Shakspeare  or  a  Corneille  in  producing  a  master- 
piece with  the  sublime  ease  of  genius.  The  "  Phedre  "  of  Pradon 
was  conceived  under  the  same  physiological  conditions  as 
that  of  Racine.  The  quantity  of  molecular  motion  expended 
by  the  wretch  who  commits  a  crime,  is  equal  to  that  put  in  play 
by  the  hero  who  saves  his  country.  It  is  only  by  maintaining 
the  difference  between  quantity  and  quality  that  we  prevent  the 
moral  world  from  revolving  in  an  invariable  orbit.  Without  this, 
there  would  be  no  means  of  distinguishing  between  genius  and 
folly,  between  crime  and  virtue;  or,  to  speak  more  correctly, 
there  would  be  no  moral  world,  no  humanity  worthy  of  the  name. 

From  this  brief  study  of  man  from  a  physiological  and  psy- 
chological point  of  view,  we  draw  two  conclusions.  First  : 
that  the  mind  and  body  are  closely  connected,  under  our 
present  conditions  of  existence ;  that  they  react  on  each  other  ; 
that  the  intellect  cannot  perform  its  functions  without  the 
medium  of  the  sense-organism,  which  supplies  the  materials  of 
knowledge  modified  according  to  its  own  laws,  neither  can  the 
will  move  without  calling  into  play  a  physical  agent  to  carry  out 
its  volitions. 


2T8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

The  second  conclusion  is,  that  mind  is  not  resolvable  into 
body  ;  that  thought  cannot  be  confounded  with  the  brain,  or 
will  with  mechanical  movement.  As  we  are  not  writing  a 
psychological  treatise,  it  does  not  devolve  upon  us  to  inquire 
into  the  mode  of  the  union  of  body  and  mind ;  we  only  need 
to  establish  the  distinction.  By  virtue  of  this  distinction,  we 
escape  the  absolute  passivity  to  which  materialism,  under  all  its 
forms,  would  reduce  us.  The  ego  is  no  longer  the  resultant 
of  sensations;  it  is  constituted  by  a  free  act,  by  which  it 
apprehends  the  great  forms  of  knowledge  previously  existing 
in  a  virtual  state  in  the  reason  and  the  conscience.  Conscience 
and  reason  alike  have  their  primordial  character,  their  first 
principles  not  derived  from  external  objects.  Moral  obligation 
is  the  essence  of  the  latter,  the  principle  of  causation  of  the 
former.  Free-will  does  not  require  demonstration ;  it  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  the  moral  being.  We  shall  have  to  define  it, 
and  to  defend  it  against  the  objections  of  various  kinds  which 
are  brought  against  it  by  the  school  which,  after  attempting 
a  psychology  without  soul,  seeks  to  found  a  morality  with- 
out conscience  and  without  responsibility.  At  the  point  we 
have  now  reached,  we  have  disengaged  free-will  from  its 
entanglement  in  the  merely  mechanical  apparatus  of  motion, 
in  which  it  had  been  involved  and  well-nigh  crushed  by  those 
who  pretended  to  explain  it.  The  distinction  established 
between  mind  and  matter  authorises  us  also  to  admit  the 
possibility  of  the  permanence  of  the  higher  life.  When  it  is 
once  recognised  that  the  body  is  not  the  principle  of  mind, 
that  it  is  only  the  actual  condition  of  mental  activity,  we  are 
free  to  hold  with  Stuart  Mill,  that  the  actual  conditions  may 
be  transformed,  and  may  even  disappear,  without  involving  in 
their  destruction  that  which  does  not  owe  its  origin  to  them. 
If  the  physical  life  is  not  the  cause  of  the  psychical,  the  former 
can  be  interrupted,  can  even  cease,  without  involving  the  soul 
in  the  same  destruction.  The  principle  of  its  being  is  greater 
than  the  actual  conditions  of  its  existence,  it  outlives  those 


MECHANICAL  AND  SPONTANEOUS  MOTION.         279 

conditions,  and  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  its  own  revival 
under  new  conditions.  The  soul  is  not,  to  use  one  of  Plato's 
beautiful  images,  a  simple  harmony  resulting  from  the  totality 
of  the  physical  faculties ;  it  is  not  with  the  soul  as  with  the 
strain  of  music,  which  vanishes  so  soon  as  the  chords  of  the 
lyre  are  broken.  The  body  is  the  lyre,  the  soul  is  the  musician 
who  sweeps  its  chords,  and  who,  if  the  lyre  fails  him,  may  find 
another  instrument;  for  the  soul  is  essentially  intelligence, 
activity — that  is  to  say,  an  active  faculty  governing  the 
passive.  It  belongs  to  the  sphere  of  morals  to  give  us 
presently  decisive  reasons  for  the  persistence  of  the  human 
personality  beyond  this  life,  and  to  establish  the  difference 
there  is  in  this  respect  between  man  and  the  animals. l 

We  cannot  better  conclude  this  discussion  on  the  distinction 
between  mind  and  mechanical  motion,  which  does  not  bear 
upon  man  alone,  but  upon  the  conception  of  the  world  at 
large,  than  by  epitomising  the  admirable  paper  read  by  M. 
Du  Bois-Reymond,  at  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in  Berlin.2  It 
is  entirely  directed  against  the  infatuation  of  German  evolution- 
ism, which  claims  to  have  raised  its  monism  to  the  height  of  a 
self-evident  conclusion.  Du  Bois-Reymond  does  not  in  this 
paper,  any  more  than  in  his  earlier  works,  identify  himself  with 
any  spiritualistic  or  religious  school.  He  simply  protests  in 

1  It  is  evident  from  this  chapter  how  completely  we  repudiate  the 
anthropological  basis  of  Mr.  Edward  White's  book  on  "  Conditional 
Immortality."  We  shall  not  discuss  here  the  conclusion  at  which  he 
arrives  as  to  conditional  immortality.  That  which  we  emphatically  reject, 
is  the  strange  concession  he  makes  to  materialistic  theories  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  relations  of  body  and  soul,  particularly  with  regard  to  the 
absolute  dependence  of  mind  upon  the  brain.  On  this  point  Mr.  White 
accepts  unhesitatingly  Hseckel's  theories.  He  confines  himself  to  repro- 
ducing them,  without  supporting  them  by  the  slightest  fresh  proof.  These 
concessions  to  materialism  in  anthropology  are  entirely  gratuitous,  and 
simply  made  in  order  to  uphold  a  favourite  theory.  We  are  far  from 
accusing  the  author  of  accepting  the  conclusions  of  materialism  ;  but  then, 
why  should  he  take  its  premisses  under  his  patronage  ? 

8  "Deutsche  Rundschau,"  Sept.  1881. 


28o  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

the  name  of  science,  which  forbids  us  to  formulate  hypotheses 
as  axioms.  He  brings  forward  indisputable  facts  in  opposition 
to  the  oracular  affirmations  of  Hseckel,  who  does  not  hesitate 
to  anathematise  any  who  raise  a  doubt  as  to  the  mechanical 
explanation  of  the  world.  There  are,  according  to  Du  Bois- 
Reymond,  seven  unanswerable  objections  to  this  explanation. 

First. — The  idea  of  matter  and  force,  which  is  not  exhausted 
by  the  theory  of  physical  motion. 

Second. — The  origin  of  motion.  To  say  that  matter  moves, 
is  nothing.  We  must  be  shown  whence  the  first  impulse  was 
derived. 

Third.— The  origin  of  life. 

Fourth. — That  which  Du  Bois-Reymond  calls  the  final  cause 
apparent  in  nature,  of  which  the  theory  of  evolution  has  given 
no  adequate  account. 

Fifth. — Sensation,  which  the  mere  motion  of  molecules  does 
not  suffice  to  produce. 

Sixth. — Thought,  which  is  still  less  reducible  to  mechanical 
motion,  at  least,  in  the  actual  state  of  our  knowledge. 

Seventh. — The  problem  of  free-will,  on  which  M.  Du  Bois- 
Reymond  does  not  pronounce,  though  he  remarks  that  the 
mechanical  theory  singularly  simplifies  its  task,  by  eliminating 
all  the  psychological  facts  at  variance  with  it. 

Du  Bois-Reymond  ridicules  Haeckel's  attempt  to  ascribe 
consciousness  and  intelligence  to  the  atoms  themselves.  He 
asks  :  If  atoms  feel,  what  are  the  organs  of  the  senses  for  ? 
How  can  unity  of  sensation  be  derived  from  multiple  atoms  ? 
Haeckel  forgets  to  determine  in  what  consciousness  consists, 
before  attributing  it  to  the  ultimate  parts  of  matter.  He  con- 
founds altogether  the  fact  and  the  consciousness  of  the  fact. 
In  materialising  all  the  manifestations  of  the  psychical  life,  he 
identifies  the  force  of  attraction  with  love,  and  the  force  of 
repulsion  with  hate.  His  system  may  be  said  truly  to  exercise 
a  faith  that  would  remove  mountains.  It  is  this  blind,  reckless 
faith,  which  affirms  that  which  it  has  not  proved  by  experience, 


MECHANICAL  AND  SPONTANEOUS  MOTION.          281 

of  which  Du  Bois-Reymond  coir. plains  in  the  most  eminent 
representative  of  monism.  For  his  part  he  is  content  with 
the  conclusion  :  Ignoremus.  Yet  he  has  said  so  much  that  we 
cannot  rest  here.  The  principle  of  causation,  which  is  the 
mainspring  of  our  reason,  constrains  us  to  leave  behind  these 
conclusions  of  prudence.  If  it  is  established  that  pure 
mechanism  does  not  explain  matter,  nor  the  origin  of  motion, 
nor  the  world,  nor  man ;  then  we  are  constrained  to  affirm 
a  principle  of  a  higher  order.  Mind  alone  could  produce 
mind.  After  setting  the  marks  of  design  on  the  lower  world, 
it  reveals  itself  yet  more  fully  in  man,  the  privileged  being 
who  is  himself  the  end,  the  object  of  creation. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MAN  AND  THE  BRUTES. 

I.   POSITION  OF  THE  QUESTION. 

HUXLEY  somewhere  says,  that  if  a  man  were  transported  in  a 
barrel  of  rum  to  the  sun,  and  compared  by  its  inhabitants 
with  the  other  mammiferous  animals  and  monkeys,  he  would 
infallibly  be  identified  with  the  monkeys.  This  may  be  pos- 
sible ;  but  in  order  to  establish  a  complete  assimilation,  even 
from  a  purely  physical  point  of  view,  we  must  suppose  the 
naturalists  in  the  sun  to  be  still  in  the  period  of  superficial 
investigations.  They  must  have  fallen  into  the  clumsy  error 
of  mistaking  this  man  in  the  barrel  for  the  true  man,  for  all 
they  would  have  before  them  would  be  his  corporeal  integu- 
ment ;  unless  indeed  they  made  as  short  work  as  Carl  Vogt  in 
his  lectures  on  man,  and  gave  their  adhesion  to  the  following 
declaration  of  the  celebrated  naturalist :  "  In  making  com- 
parisons, anatomical  characteristics  carry  the  most  weight.  As 
to  the  accessories,  philosophical  or  religious,  with  which  some 
naturalists  have  attempted  to  adorn  their  frail  edifice,  we  can 
only  afford  them  here  and  there  a  passing  glance.  It  is  to  us 
a  matter  of  indifference  that  Schopenhauer  bases  the  distinc- 
tion between  man  and  the  monkey  upon  the  will,  while  Bischoff 
makes  it  depend  on  his  faculty  of  self-consciousness." 

We  can  easily  understand  how  Vogt,  who  thus  dismisses  as 
mere  unimportant  detail  all  that  refers  to  the  higher  life  of 
man,  should  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  less  difference 
between  a  negro  and  an  ourang-outang  than  between  a  German 


MAN  AND    THE  BRUTES.  283 

and  a  negro.  Doubtless  the  Frenchman,  Italian,  and  English- 
man supply  the  missing  links,  which  science  has  unfortunately 
never  yet  discovered,  between  the  anthropoid  and  man.  M. 
Lefevre  is  equally  frank  in  his  affirmations.  In  his  "  Philosophic," 
he  tells  us  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  nature  has  placed  a  less 
distance  between  the  gorilla  and  the  lowest  representatives 
of  the  human  species  than  between  the  anthropoids  and  the 
lower  orders  of  monkeys.  He  says  :  "  At  a  period  not  de- 
termined, there  was  born,  in  his  proper  place  and  time  in 
the  series  of  beings,  a  mammal — biped  and  bimanous,  like 
the  other  simians,  hairy,  with  legs  adapted  for  climbing,  and 
sharp  claws,  who  struck  down  his  prey  with  a  branch  torn  from 
a  tree,  or  with  a  stone  he  had  picked  up.  He  brought  into 
the  struggle  for  existence  a  better  balanced  organism,  better 
regulated  appetites,  a  less  obtuse  brain.  Taught  by  necessity, 
he  learned  to  seek  places  of  shelter,  to  make  a  dwelling-place 
for  himself.  By  cleverness  and  numbers  he  got  the  better  of 
superior  strength.  Selection  did  the  rest." l  Here  we  have  a 
rapid  and  lively  resume  of  the  theories  worked  out  in  Darwin's 
two  great  books,  "  The  Origin  of  Species,"  and  "  The  Descent 
of  Man,"  and  in  Haeckel's  great  work  on  the ' "  Evolution  of 
Man."  Darwin  has  endeavoured  to  apply  to  man  his  theory 
of  evolution,  with  its  great  laws  of  natural  and  sexual  selection, 
of  the  struggle  for  existence,  of  the  effect  of  heredity,  and 
finally  of  adaptation  to  environment  and  the  co-ordination  of 
the  modified  organs.  In  his  book  on  "  The  Descent  of  Man  '' 
he  endeavours  to  lower  the  barrier  between  the  animal  king- 
dom and  man,  and  to  evolve,  by  insensible  degrees,  all  our 
higher  faculties  from  the  animal  instincts  ;  the  moral  sense 
being  confounded  with  sociability,  and  the  religious  sentiment 
with  the  simple  tewor  produced  by  an  unknown  force. 
Haeckel  does  not  take  so  much  pains  to  identify  man  with  the 
brute ;  he  attempts  no  psychological  analysis.  He  is  satisfied 

1  "Philosophic,"  A.  Lefevre,  pp.  496,497. 


284  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

with  proving  that  the  central  nervous  system  is  the  organ  of 
the  psychical  life,  in  order  to  establish,  or  rather  to  affirm,  that 
everything  in  man,  as  in  the  lower  animals,  is  to  be  explained 
by  mere  physiological  evolution.  "  The  mind,  or  '  psyche,'  of 
man,"  he  says,  "  has  developed  together  with,  and  as  the  func- 
tion of,  the  medullary  tube  ;  and  just  as  even  now  the  brain 
and  spinal  marrow  develop  in  each  human  individual  from  the 
simple  medullary  tube,  so  the  human  '  mind,'  or  the  mental 
capacity  of  the  entire  human  race,  has  developed  gradually  step 
by  step  from  the  mind  of  lower  verbetrates.  .  .  .  The  human 
embryo  passes  through  all  the  same  stages  of  this  long  pro- 
gression."1 We  refer  the  reader  lastly  to  M.  Broca's  paper 
on  the  intelligence  of  animals  and  of  man,  read  before  the 
Anthropological  Society  of  Paris,  as  giving  the  most  clear  and 
brilliant  resume  of  the  whole  argument  against  the  specific 
character  of  humanity.2  M.  Topinard,  in  his  "  Manuel 
d'Anthropologie,"  gives  us  a  kind  of  short-hand  report  of  the 
special  pleadings  of  this  brilliant  advocate,  whose  arguments 
we  must  regard  as  too  slight  to  be  made  the  basis  of  such 
weighty  conclusions.3 

It  is  plain  that  the  psychological  question  with  regard  to 
man  is  bound  up  with  the  question  of  his  origin.  If  in  truth 
there  is  no  specific  difference  between  the  human  mind 
and  that  which  is  called  the  intelligence  of  animals,  then  the 
theory  of  monistic  evolution  is  justified  in  its  most  sweeping 
applications,  then  there  have  been  only  transitions  more  or 
less  marked  between  the  first  exhibitions  of  psychical  life  and 
its  most  brilliant  development.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  mind 
of  man  has  truly  a  character  peculiar  to  itself,  then  there  is 

1  "  Evolution  of  Man,"  Hseckel,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  450,  451. 

2  "  Memoires  d'Anthropologie  Zoologique."  Paul  Broca. 

3  "  Anthropologie,"    Topinard.      See  also   "  Sociologie,"    Letourneau. 
The  opposite  thesis,  which  placed  the  human  race  by  itself,  was  constantly 
maintained  by  Buffon,  and  has  been  defended  in  our  day  by  Flourens  and 
Blainville.    H.  Hollard  has  also  written  a  remarkable  book  on  this  subject, 
"L'Homme  et  les  Races  Humaincs." 


MAN  AND    THE  BRUTES.  285 

something  more  in  man  than  the  mere  development  of  the 
brute.  Even  if  it  were  established,— which  it  is  not, — that 
in  physiological  life  there  has  been  from  the  lowest  to  the 
highest  species,  such  as  the  anthropoids,  a  continuous 
evolution  in  conformity  with  the  laws  of  natural  selection,  of 
heredity,  and  of  adaptation  to  environment,  the  mind  of  man 
would  be  none  the  less  a  manifestation  of  an  entirely  new 
order.  The  principle  of  causation  would  forbid  its  being 
referred  to  mere  physical  antecedents,  so  far  would  the  effect 
surpass  the  cause ;  and  it  would  be  necessary  to  recognise  that 
it  belongs  to  a  higher  order  and  reveals  a  higher  cause. 
Take  it  as  proved,  if  you  will,  that  the  body  of  man  is 
identical  with  the  body  of  the  monkey ;  prove  even  that 
physiologically  it  is  derived  from  it  (a  proof  not  yet  obtained), 
what  does  it  matter,  if,  as  has  been  well  said,  his  soul  is  that 
of  a  god?  The  true  man  is  not  the  man  in  the  barrel  of 
rum,  from  whom  all  the  higher  life  has  been  eliminated,  as  it  is 
by  Vogt,  as  a  mere  bagatelle.  Man,  in  his  entirety,  measured 
by  that  which  is  properly  characteristic,  is  not  simply  the  last 
link  in  the  chain  of  animal  life.  That  embryo  which,  we  are 
told,  has  in  its  mother's  womb  passed  through  all  the 
stages  of  the  earlier  physical  life  of  the  race,  had  within  it,  in 
the  virtual  state,  an  element  of  a  higher  order,  which  sufficed 
to  break  the  chain  and  to  make  it  a  new  starting-point  in  the 
series  of  existences.  We  are  the  more  warranted  in  affirming 
the  distinctness  of  the  human  race  in  this  sense,  since  the 
anthropoid,  the  direct  progenitor  of  man,  has  never  been 
discovered.  Haeckei  asserts  indeed  that  he  will  be  found 
shortly  ;  but  even  his  word  of  honour  cannot  be  accepted  as 
proof. 

In  fine.  The  question  of  origin  is  identified  with  the 
question  of  psychology,  and  it  will  be  our  task  to  attempt  to 
throw  light  on  the  psychological  aspect  by  a  patient  study 
of  facts.  Is  there,  or  is  there  not,  an  essential  difference 
between  the  brute  and  man  from  a  psychological  point  of 


286  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

view?  and  wherein  does  this  difference  consist?    These  are 
the  inquiries  we  have  to  answer. 

Before  entering  thoroughly  into  this  discussion,  let  us 
observe  that  the  doctrine  of  evolution  in  its  first  form  does 
not  logically  imply  the  denial  of  any  essential  distinction 
between  man  and  brute.  Wallace,  the  precursor  of  Darwin, 
says  :  "Man,  by  the  mere  capacity  of  clothing  himself  and 
making  weapons  and  tools,  has  taken  away  from  nature  that 
power  of  slowly  but  permanently  changing  the  external  form 
and  structure,  in  accordance  with  changes  in  the  external 
world,  which  she  exercises  over  all  other  animals.  .  .  . 
At  length  there  came  into  existence  a  being  in  whom  that 
subtle  force  we  term  mind  became  of  greater  importance 
than  his  mere  bodily  structure.  Though  with  a  naked  and 
unprotected  body,  this  gave  him  clothing  ngatnst  the  varying 
inclemencies  of  the  seasons.  Though  unable  to  compete  with 
the  deer  in  swiftness,  or  with  the  wild  bull  in  strength,  this 
gave  him  weapons  with  which  to  capture  or  overcome  both. 
Though  less  capable  than  most  other  animals  of  living  on  the 
herbs  and  the  fruits  that  unaided  nature  supplies,  this  wonder- 
ful faculty  taught  him  to  govern  and  direct  nature  for  his  own 
benefit,  and  make  her  produce  food  for  him,  when  and  where 
he  pleased.  From  the  moment  when  the  first  skin  was  used 
as  a  covering,  when  the  first  rude  spear  was  formed  to  assist  in 
the  chase,  when  fire  was  first  used  to  cook  his  food,  when  the 
first  seed  was  sown  or  shoot  planted,  a  grand  revolution  was 
effected  in  nature — a  revolution  which  in  all  the  previous  ages 
of  the  earth's  history  had  had  no  parallel ;  for  a  being  had 
arisen  who  was  no  longer  necessarily  subject  to  change  with 
the  changing  universe — a  being  who  was  in  some  degree 
superior  to  nature,  inasmuch  as  he  knew  how  to  control  and 
regulate  her  action,  and  could  keep  himself  in  harmony  with 
her,  not  by  a  change  in  body,  but  by  an  advance  of  mind. 
.  .  Man  is,  indeed,  a  being  apart,  since  he  is  not 
influenced  by  the  great  laws  which  irresistibly  modify  all  other 


MAN  AND   THE  BRUTES.  287 

organic  beings.  Nay,  more,  this  victory,  which  he  has  gained 
for  himself,  gives  him  a  directing  influence  over  other  exist- 
ences. Man  has  not  only  escaped  natural  selection  himself, 
but  he  is  actually  able  to  take  away  some  of  that  power  from 
nature  which  before  his  appearance  she  universally  exercised. 
.  .  .  Among  civilised  nations  at  the  present  day  it  does 
not  seem  possible  for  natural  selection  to  act  in  any  way  so  as 
to  secure  the  permanent  advancement  of  morality  and  intelli- 
gence. .  .  .  Yet  there  is  undoubtedly  an  advance,— on 
the  whole  a  steady  and  permanent  one, — both  in  the  influence 
on  public  opinion  of  a  high  morality,  and  in  the  general 
desire  for  intellectual  elevation ;  and  as  I  cannot  impute  this  in 
any  way  to  survival  of  the  fittest,  I  am  forced  to  conclude  that 
it  is  due  to  the  inherent  progressive  power  of  those  glorious 
qualities  which  raise  us  so  immeasurably  above  our  fellow- 
animals,  and  at  the  same  time  afford  us  the  surest  proof  that 
there  are  other  and  higher  existences  than  ourselves,  from 
whom  these  qualities  may  have  been  derived,  and  towards 
whom  we  may  be  ever  tending."  l 

M.  Quatrefages  reduces  the  specific  difference  between  man 
and  brute  to  the  possession  by  man  of  moral  and  religious 
ideas  which  imply  belief  in  a  future  life.  He  sees  only  differ- 
ences of  degree  between  man  and  the  lower  animals  so  far  as 
the  intellectual  faculties  are  concerned.2  Milne-Edwards,  in  his 
Lectures  on  the  physiology  and  comparative  anatomy  of  man 
and  animals, — an  admirable  zoological  repertory  of  which  we 
shall  make  large  use, — is  not  content  with  obliterating  all  essen- 
tial distinction  between  the  intelligence  of  the  lower  animal  and 
that  of  man;  he  claims  for  the  animal  a  sort  of  moral  sense.3 

While  we  fully  endorse  M.  Quatrefage's  repudiation  of  this 
analogy,  we  cannot  accept  as  adequate  the  part  he  assigns  to 

1  "Natural  Selection,"  A.  R.Wallace,  chap,  ix.,  pp.  315-331. 

2  "  L'Espece  Humaine."  Quatrefages. 

1  "  Lemons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  1' Anatomic  Comparee  de  1'Homme  et  des 
Animaux,"  vol.  xiii.,  xiv.,  Leyon  XV. 


288  ThE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

man.  We  assuredly  do  not  depreciate  the  importance  of  the 
moral  and  religious  element,  and  we  are  ready  to  admit  that  it 
places  a  gulf  between  the  most  intelligent  of  anthropoids  and 
man ;  but  we  are  convinced  that  even  in  the  purely  intellectual 
life,  the  mind  of  man  possesses  a  character  peculiarly  its  own. 
The  ground  taken  by  M.  Quatrefages  himself  seems  to  us  to 
establish  this.  To  say  that  man  alone  rises  to  moral  and  re- 
ligious ideas,  is  implicitly  to  admit  that  his  intellect  rises  to  the 
universal,  the  infinite,  the  absolute.  Now  this  is  an  intellectual 
act  to  which  the  brute  never  attains. 

Leaving  generalities,  let  us  now  institute  a  comparison  be- 
tween man  and  the  brute.  Let  us  look  first  at  the  animal  in 
itself.  The  phenomenon  of  life,  as  it  appears  in  the  animal, 
even  at  the  lowest  step  of  the  zoological  scale,  is  absolutely 
opposed  to  the  materialistic  or  monistic  theory  of  transforma- 
tion. Without  entering  on  the  general  discussion,  we  may 
pass  rapidly  in  review  the  conclusions  arrived  at  on  this  point 
in  Milne- Ed vvards's  learned  work.  They  seem  to  us  all  the 
more  valuable  because  the  writer  carefully  repudiates  any 
philosophical  bias,  and  aims  at  nothing  but  giving  the  result  of 
his  great  zoological  labours.  He  says  :  "  In  the  actual  state 
of  our  globe  the  ponderable  matter  which  is  adapted  to  form 
the  body  of  a  living  creature,  never  spontaneously  becomes 
living,  and  we  know  of  no  chemical  or  physical  agent  which 
can  develop  life  in  it ;  no  example  of  what  is  called  spontane- 
ous generation  has  been  proved.  This  organisable  or  organised 
matter  only  becomes  living  through  the  direct  or  indirect 
influence  of  the  living  body  by  which  it  is  generated.  To 
constitute  a  living  creature,  something  more  is  required  than 
the  tangible  matter  of  which  the  body  of  the  creature  is 
formed ;  and  this  something,  whatever  it  may  be  by  nature,  is 
transmissible.  It  is  an  active  principle,  a  force."  1 

Admitting  that  the  living  organism  is  composed  of  a  multi- 

1  "  Le9ons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  I1  Anatomic  Comparee  de  1'Homme  et  des 
Animaux,"  vol.  xiv.,  pp.  259-269. 


MAN  AND    THE   BRUTE.  289 

plicity  of  living  particles  or  organites,  and  forms  a  sort  of  co- 
operative society,  the  author  recognises  a  directing  power  by 
which  these  particles  are  organised,  and  formed  into  a  harmo- 
nious whole,  and  by  which  are  produced  those  diversities  of  the 
living  organism  whose  clearly- marked  types  could  not  be  the 
result  of  mere  chemical  aggregation.  It  is  this  same  organising 
power  which  preserves  the  animal  type  in  spite  of  the  constant 
mobility  of  matter.  There  is  nothing  stable  except  the  form 
and  the  idea,  as  said  Aristotle.  This  idea  then  is  not  the  re- 
sult of  the  mere  operation  of  mechanical  forces.  It  preceded 
them  as  the  plan  of  a  work  precedes  the  work  itself.  We  quote 
Milne-Edwards  again  : — "  At  the  starting-point  of  their  exist- 
ence, animals  which  in  the  course  of  their  development  be- 
come widely  different  from  each  other,  often  exhibit  no  appre- 
ciable difference  in  the  ponderable  matter  which  constitutes 
their  body.  The  peculiarities  which  manifest  themselves 
successively  in  their  constitution  and  properties  cannot  be 
attributed  either  to  different  substances  added  at  sul  seq  lent 
stages  to  their  original  substance,  nor  to  differences  in  the 
conditions  under  which  the  evolution  is  carried  on.  From 
the  first,  each  creature  has  in  itself  an  organising  force  which 
approximately  determines  the  mode  in  which  it  will  assimilate 
matter.  It  follows  that  if  I  were  obliged  to  choose  between 
one  of  the  two  hypotheses  on  which  spiritualistic  and  materi- 
alistic philosophers  have  been  arguing  in  all  ages,  I  should 
take  my  place  among  the  former."  l 

Milne-Edwards  affirms  the  transformist  hypothesis  to  be  in- 
adequate to  account,  not  only  for  the  origin,  but  for  the  develop- 
ment of  life.  Disposed  as  he  is  to  admit  that  the  idea  of 
species  has  been  too  limited,  and  that  a  certain  elasticity  may 
be  allowed,  especially  in  the  early  periods  of  zoological  develop- 
ment, he  nevertheless  declares  that  nothing  in  the  facts  proved 
justifies  the  idea  of  a  transformation  of  zoological  types  under 

1  "  Le9ons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  1' Anatomic  Comparee  de  ITIouune  et  des 
Animaux,"  Milne  Edwards,  vol.  xiv.,  p.  276. 

U 


290  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

external  influences.  He  says  : — "  In  the  animal  kingdom,  the 
generic  products  furnished  by  the  same  individual,  or  by  similar 
individuals,  never  bear  a  complete  resemblance  to  each  other 
nor  to  their  parents.  Identity  in  the  various  terms  of  a  race 
is  then  never  absolute,  but  daily  observation  shows  us  that  in 
the  majority  of  cases  the  differences  are  slight ;  and  when  they 
are  considerable,  we  find  that  they  are  incompatible  with  the 
complete  development  of  the  organism,  or  at  any  rate  that  they 
entail  sterility.  Lastly,  the  deviations  of  the  new,  compared 
to  the  pre-existing  type,  never  have  the  effect  of  producing  a 
type  such  as  is  presented  by  animals  of  a  different  stock. 
Nevertheless  the  peculiarities  found  in  the  propagators  tend  to 
perpetuate  themselves  in  their  descendants,  and  in  this  way 
the  primordial  characters  of  the  race  are  susceptible  of  certain 
changes."  l 

Milne-Edwards  thus  admits,  as  we  see,  a  certain  amount  of 
variability  in  the  products  of  generation ;  but  as  soon  as  it 
becomes  an  anomaly,  as  in  monsters,  under  the  influence  of 
special  exceptional  circumstances,  the  result  is  either  incom- 
plete development  or  sterility.  "  Variability  in  characteristics 
of  a  secondary  order  is  very  rationally  explained  by  the  laws 
of  heredity,  natural  selection,  and  adaptation  to  environment ; 
but  nothing  in  science  authorises  us  to  believe  that,  without 
the  intervention  of  unknown  modifying  causes,  changes  of  this 
order  can  go  very  far,  or  that  in  other  times,  any  more  than  in 
our  own,  an  animal  may  have  been  born  from  a  plant,  an  in- 
sect from  a  zoophyte,  a  mammal  from  a  fish,  a  dog  from  an 
opossum,  or  a  man  from  a  monkey." 2 

We  are  thus  brought  back  to  the  relations  between  humanity 
and  the  animal  kingdom.  Leaving  now  the  physiological 
aspect, — on  which  we  need  say  no  more  after  so  conclusive  a 

1  "  Le9ons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  1' Anatomic  Comparee  de  1'Homme  et  des 
Animaux,"  vol.  xiv.  p.  316. 
3  /to/.,  p.  328. 


MAN  AND   THE  BRUTE.  291 

confirmation  given  to  our  views  by  one  of  the  most  competent 
of  biologists, — we  shall  turn  our  attention  to  the  psychical  or 
psychological  aspect  of  the  question. 

With  regard  to  animals,  we  shall  have  to  be  on  our  guard 
against  exaggeration  in  either  direction.  We  must  be  careful 
not  unduly  to  exalt  or  to  depreciate  them.  We  are  tempted  to 
apply  to-day  to  the  animal  what  Pascal  said  in  reference  to 
man :  "  If  men  humble  thee,  I  lift  thee  up  ;  if  they  uplift,  I 
humble."  The  partisans  of  absolute  transformation,  who  try 
to  bring  the  man  and  the  brute  as  near  together  as  possible, 
have  a  tendency  to  depreciate  everything  in  man,  and  to  exalt 
everything  in  the  brute.  They  literally  romance  about  animals 
as  Rousseau  did  in  the  last  century  about  savages.  As  we 
read  some  of  their  writings,  we  are  ready  to  say,  that  if  we 
want  to  have  wits  we  ought  to  turn  beasts.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  avowed  spiritualists  fall  into  the  opposite  extreme. 
We  shall  try  to  be  true  to  the  facts  furnished  by  impartial 
observation. 

II.  INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE. 

There  is  one  primary  fact  which  the  materialistic  trans- 
formation theory  completely  fails  to  explain ;  this  is,  the  fact 
of  instinct  in  the  animal.  We  shall  inquire  presently  what 
we  ought  to  think  of  it,  and  whether  it  alone,  apart  from 
reason,  suffices  to  make  animal  life  comprehensible  to  us. 
For  the  moment  we  have  only  to  look  at  the  explanation 
of  it  given  by  the  naturalistic  school.  It  would  lead  us 
to  suppose  that  in  the  animal,  as  in  man,  everything  comes 
from  without,  since  all  is  reduced  to  sensation.  Instinct 
must  be  then  only  the  resultant  of  experiences  transmitted 
and  accumulated  from  generation  to  generation  by  heredity. 
At  the  outset,  it  does  not  exist  in  the  animal  in  any  degree, 
either  germinally  or  potentially.  It  is  a  lesson  slowly  learnt, 
the  great  object-lesson  of  external  nature.  We  ask  then,  what 
is  to  be  said  of  those  numerous  cases  in  zoology  in  which 


292  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

instinct  certainly  cannot  be  connected  with  experience  of  any 
sort  ?  Such  a  case  is  that  of  the  necrophorus,  which,  though  it 
dies  when  its  larva  comes  into  being,  prepares  for  this  larva 
(which  it  will  never  see)  animal  nutriment  unknown  to  itself, 
since  its  sustenance  in  the  adult  stage  is  solely  the  juice  of 
plants.  Who  taught  it  to  drag  with  great  labour  the  dead  body 
of  a  mole  into  the  hole  in  which  it  deposits  its  larva,  in  order 
that  the  larva  may  find  the  food  it  needs  ?  What  experience 
guides  this  insect  to  perform  such  complicated  acts,  which 
exhibit  such  marvellous  foresight  ?  It  will  never  know  its 
progeny  ;  the  food  which  is  adapted  to  the  larva  is  equally 
unknown  to  it.  It  obeys,  then,  an  inward  impulse  of  which  it 
has  no  consciousness.  The  xylocopa  violacea,  or  wood-borer, 
supplies  an  example  of  the  same  order.  This  kind  of  solitary 
bee,  when  it  is  about  to  lay,  attacks  a  plank  of  any  sort  and 
makes  in  it  with  its  mandibles  long  galleries  ending  in  a  cut 
de  sac,  the  lower  extremity  of  which  is  only  separated  from  the 
external  surface  of  the  wood  by  a  thin  layer  of  ligneous  tissue. 
It  lays  only  once,  and  dies  soon  after,  yet  it  toils  in  this  way 
to  prepare  for  its  progeny  a  suitable  home.  It  takes  no  less 
pains  in  providing  for  its  sustenance,  for  it  carpets  the  gallery 
which  it  has  hollowed  out  with  the  pollen  of  flowers  gathered 
up  and  rolled  into  little  balls.  With  the  sawdust  of  the  wood 
that  it  has  hollowed,  it  makes  a  sort  of  chamber  for  the  egg 
about  to  be  laid.  Three  eggs  are  deposited  at  one  laying,  and 
then  the  bee  dies.  When  the  larva,  having  come  out  of  the 
egg,  has  arrived  at  the  necessary  point  of  development,  it 
pierces  the  wall  of  its  chamber  (not  attempting  the  roof,  which 
is  too  tightly  compacted),  and  thus  gains  the  fresh  air.  The 
insect  which  goes  to  work  thus  methodically  to  effect  its  libe- 
ration, never  saw  the  thing  done  by  one  of  its  progenitors. 
It  has  learnt  nothing,  and  yet  it  knows  all  that  is  necessary 
for  it  to  know.1  Facts  like  these,  taken  from  the  instinct  of  in- 


s  sur  la  Physiologic  et  1'  Anatomic  Comparee  de  1'  Horn  me  et 
des  Animaux,"  Milne-Edwards,  vol.  xiii.  ,  p.  467. 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  293 

sects,  might  be  quoted  in  any  number.  The  odyneri,  belonging 
to  the  order  of  hymenoptera,  prepare  more  substantial  food  for 
their  young.  They  place  in  the  interior  of  their  nest,  by  the 
side  of  the  eggs  from  which  the  larva  is  to  emerge,  a  certain 
number  of  insects — living  but  struck  with  paralysis,  so  as  to 
become  an  easy  prey  and  yet  to  be  kept  fresh  till  they  are 
wanted.  This  paralysis,  with  which  the  insects  are  seized,  is 
owing  to  a  tiny  drop  of  poison  inserted  in  the  thorax  by  the 
sting  of  the  odynerus  when  about  to  lay.  Now,  unless  we 
suppose  this  little  creature  to  have  a  very  advanced  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  effect  of  poisons,  we  must  recognise  in 
this  operation  an  innate  instinct  which  owes  nothing  to  ex- 
perience.1 The  same  conclusion  may  be  drawn  with  regard  to 
the  instinct  which  impels  bees,  when  their  queen  is  dead,  to 
prepare  another  by  putting  the  larva  of  a  working  bee  through 
a  course  of  feeding  adapted  to  develop  its  fecundity  and  to 
transform  it  into  a  queen  bee.  No  tradition,  no  acquired 
experience,  no  reasoning,  can  teach  them  what  they  have  to  do 
in  order  to  remedy  in  this  way  the  disaster  which  has  befallen 
them.  Can  any  one  tell  us  by  what  experience  the  larva  of 
the  sitaris,  which  only  finds  the  conditions  favourable  to  its 
development  in  the  inside  of  the  subterranean  nest  constructed 
by  the  andrena,  has  learned  to  hook  itself  on  to  the  hairs  with 
which  the  body  of  this  hymenopteran  is  furnished,  and  thus 
to  have  itself  carried  into  the  cradle  which  it  has  prepared  for 
its  progeny.  The  larva  of  the  sitaris  creeps  under  the  egg  laid 
by  the  andrena^  clasps  the  shell  with  its  mandibles  and  thus 
finds  its  food.  Then  it  changes  its  skin,  and  makes  use  of  the 
old  skin  as  a  boat  in  which  to  keep  itself  afloat  on  the  honey 
beneath,  which  is  its  nourishment  in  this  second  phase  of  its 
existence.  Finally,  it  is  metamorphosed  into  a  pupa,  then 
into  a  winged  insect.  It  pairs  in  the  air,  lays  its  eggs,  and  dies. 


1  "  Le5ons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  1'Anatomie  Comparee  de  I'Homme  et 
des  Animaux,"  vol.  xiii.,  p.  492. 


294  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

Its  larvae  repeat  precisely  the  same  process  without  any  instruc- 
tion.1 

These  well-established  facts,  and  a  thousand  others,  prove,  as 
it  seems  to  us,  that  the  hypothesis  of  accumulated  experiences 
as  explaining  the  origin  of  instinct,  is  untenable,  and  that  there 
is  in  instinct  something  innate  and  primordial.  It  is  equally 
impossible  to  see  in  it  the  manifestation  of  intelligence  properly 
so  called,  working  by  comparison,  reasoning,  combination  ;  for 
intelligence  does  not  act  thus  unvaryingly,  it  hesitates,  tries 
experiments,  modifies  its  methods.  This  difference  between  in- 
stinct and  intelligence  does  not  apply  only  to  these  very  curious 
cases,  in  which  the  complication  of  the  combinations  equals  the 
depth  of  ignorance  in  the  insect.  In  a  general  way,  instinct 
in  animals  knows  without  having  learnt ;  the  beehive  and  the 
ant-hill  were  constructed  with  the  same  perfection  from  the  very 
first ;  the  bird's  nest  displayed  as  much  art  ten  thousand  years 
ago  as  to-day. 

If  we  were  to  confine  ourselves  to  instinct  in  its  primitive 
form,  this  would  alone  suffice  to  draw  a  sharp  line  of  demarca- 
tion between  man  and  the  animal.  To  man  alone  would 
belong  intelligence  properly  so  called,  which  is  conscious  of 
itself,  which  learns  and  makes  progress ;  while  the  animal 
would  never  rise  above  this  unconscious  intelligence,  which  is 
not  its  own  since  another  has  thought  for  it.  It  has  been  said, 
not  without  truth,  that  God  is  the  intellect  of  brutes.  We 
cannot  get  beyond  the  following  well-drawn  distinction.  "  In- 
stinct knows  not  that  it  knows ;  intelligence  knows  that  it  is 
ignorant." 

We  must  acknowledge,  however,  that  the  question  is  not  so 
simple.  In  fact  it  cannot  be  denied  on  the  one  hand  that 
instinct  can  acquire  a  certain  development,  and  on  the  other 
that  it  appears  insufficient  to  explain  the  cases  in  which  the 
animal  has  not  only  to  provide  for  the  normal  development  of 

1  "  Le9ons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  PAnatomie  Comparee  de  1'Homme  et 
des  Animaux."  Milne-Edwards  vol.  xiii.  p.  476. 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  295 

its  being,  but  to  repair  a  disaster  or  avert  a  danger.  It  seems 
in  such  cases  as  if  intelligence  really  came  into  play.  Is  the 
essential  difference  between  man  and  brute  still  observable  in 
such  a  case  ? 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  a  certain  progress  in  the 
animal,  which  enables  it  to  profit  by  experience  acquired  and 
to  modify  on  some  points  the  proceedings  which  instinct  has 
suggested  for  its  preservation.  We  freely  admit  that,  within 
certain  limits,  the  Darwinian  explanations  are  sustained  by 
facts;  that  the  struggle  for  existence  has  had  some  influence  on 
the  development  of  the  animal,  and  that  heredity  has  perpetu- 
ated the  progress  made.  We  may  not  include  in  this  progress 
the  acquired  advantages  of  domestic  animals,  which  are  often 
very  remarkable;  for  in  this  case  we  have  artificial  culture 
developed  by  intelligence  of  a  superior  order.  Man  is  the 
principal  agent  of  this  culture  ;  the  educational  processes  which 
he  employs  show  his  own  thought,  not  that  of  the  animal; 
moreover,  the  means  of  education  used  by  him  are  often  crude 
and  appeal  primarily  to  the  animal  appetites.  The  skill  of 
learned  dogs  must  be  assigned  to  causes  of  a  very  low  order ;  the 
dog  has  the  appearance  of  calculating,  but  does  not  really  cal- 
culate; he  obeys,  often  with  marvellous  cleverness,  certain 
almost  imperceptible  signs  which  owe  their  efficacy  to  the  sen- 
sations which  have  become  associated  with  them ;  but  the 
credit  of  skilful  association  belongs  to  the  human  dog-trainer. 
We  attach  far  more  importance  to  the  very  curious  cases  in  bee 
and  ant  history  in  which  we  find  them  not  only  building  their 
hive  and  ant-hill  in  the  most  skilful  fashion,  but  also  repairing 
it  when  it  is  destroyed,  and  providing  against  observed  incon- 
veniences. We  have  seen  bees  lessen  the  orifice  of  their  hive 
in  summer  to  guard  against  the  invasion  of  parasitic  insects  and 
enlarge  it  in  winter,  when  no  such  danger  was  to  be  appre- 
hended. The  example  of  beavers,  which  on  being  brought  to 
Europe  modify  their  way  of  building,  because  the  conditions  of 
their  existence  are  changed,  is  no  less  remarkable.  To  build 


296  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

lodges  open  to  the  sky  is  safe  in  the  great  American  deserts ;  it 
would  be  dangerous  in  a  thickly-populated  country  like  France. 
Must  there  not  have  been  a  certain  degree  of  intelligence 
conjoined  with  instinct  in  the  beavers  located  on  the  shores 
of  the  Rhone,  which  led  them  to  conceal  their  lodges  in  the 
banks  of  the  river? 

Recent  observations  on  ants  made  by  M.  Forel  and  Sir  John 
Lubbock,  and  those  on  bees  made  by  Hubert  of  Geneva,  show 
that  animals  are  capable  of  modifying  their  methods,  or  at 
any  rate  of  arranging  their  little  workshop  in  the  way  best 
adapted  to  their  ends.  The  breeding  of  the  aphis  by  ants,  in 
order  t'o  provide  a  sort  of  milk  ;  the  division  of  labour  so  care- 
fully carried  out  among  these  industrious  insects  (the  various 
tasks  necessary  to  the  good  of  the  community  being  assigned 
to  different  workers) ;  the  existence  of  their  army  of  fighting 
amazons,  always  ready  to  defend  the  community  or  to  extend  it 
by  conquest;  all  these  facts,  now  better  observed  than  ever 
before,  reveal  a  mental  life,  the  true  character  of  which  we 
have  to  determine.  The  higher  mammalia  exhibit  traits 
equally  remarkable.  The  cunning  devices  of  the  fox  and  the 
wolf  to  secure  their  prey  or  to  elude  pursuit,  and  the  shrewd- 
ness of  the  elephant,  legitimately  excite  admiration.  If  from 
the  evidence  of  mind  we  pass  to  that  of  affection,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  animals  have  sympathies  and  antipathies,  that  they 
form,  in  fact,  real  attachments.  We  conclude  from  all  these 
observations,  which  cannot  be  disputed,  that  the  Cartesian 
hypothesis  of  a  pure  animal  mechanism  is  as  inadmissible 
as  the  materialistic  transformation  theory,  which  recognises 
nothing  more  in  either  the  animal  or  man  than  molecular 
motion. 

Nevertheless  the  line  of  demarcation  between  brute  nature 
and  human  nature  remains  clear  and  impassable.  Its  broadest 
mark  is  the  decided  predominance  of  instinct  in  the  brute  and 
of  the  conscious  life,  willing  and  reflecting  in  man.  We  need 
not  repeat  what  has  already  been  said  at  length,  on  the  mental 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  297 

and  moral  life  of  humanity  in  discussing  the  problem  of  know- 
ledge and  of  the  psychical  life.  We  have  affirmed  and  endea- 
voured to  prove  that  there  is  in  man  a  latent  energy,  which 
coming  in  contact  with  external  objects,  and  primarily  with 
his  own  body,  gains  consciousness  of  itself  by  effort.  It  is 
stimulated  and  developed  by  the  resistance  which  it  meets ;  it 
puts  forth  an  act  of  will  to  overcome  it.  The  ego  recognises 
itself  and  distinguishes  itself  from  the  object  in  the  first  mani- 
festation of  its  will.  The  personality  begins  to  differentiate 
itself  from  that  which  is  outside  it,  by  virtue  of  that  higher  form 
of  effort  which  is  called  attention,  and  concentrates  its  thought 
upon  things  with  a  view  to  know  them.  Effort — attention 
in  its  second  stage — is  turned  upon  the  ego  and  transformed 
into  reflexion.  In  learning  to  know  itself,  the  ego  apprehends 
at  once  reason  and  consciousness,  and  both  these  raise  it  from 
the  particular  to  the  general,  to  the  great  fundamental  laws 
of  its  being.  In  the  reason,  it  apprehends  that  a  priori  of 
thought  which  is  formulated  in  the  categories,  those  great 
axioms  which,  as  they  proceed  on  the  principle  of  causation, 
argue  a  supreme  cause.  Sensation  then  furnishes  the  materi- 
als of  science,  which  leads  on  to  the  general,  the  universal,  the 
divine.  In  the  moral  consciousness,  the  ego  discovers  a  higher 
law,  that  of  moral  obligation.  It  feels  itself  at  once  free  and 
under  constraint.  But  free-will  after  all  has  been  the  chief 
agent  in  this  psychological  evolution,  the  stimulation  to  which 
comes  from  without,  but  whose  essential  conditions  are  inher- 
ent in  the  human  mind.  By  virtue  of  this  processus  which  only 
makes  actual  man's  true  nature,  till  then  dormant  and  absorbed 
in  the  instinctive  life,  he  leaves  instinct  behind,  masters  it,  rises 
above  the  ever-fluctuating  stream  of  sensations,  feels  himself  a 
moral  personality,  distinct  from  the  changing  tides  which  ebb 
and  flow  unceasingly  around  him.  Memory  makes  him  free  of 
the  past ;  foresight  anticipates  the  future.  It  is  not  enough 
for  him  to  feed  himself,  to  keep  himself  warm,  to  escape  the 
danger  of  the  moment,  to  become  the  progenitor  of  offspring 


298  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

which  are  his  but  for  a  little  while.  Conscious  of  his  acquired 
privileges  he  turns  them  to  account  and  adds  to  them  ;  the 
career  of  progress  stands  open  before  him  ;  and  this  shows 
clearly  how  far  he  has  left  behind  the  merely  instinctive  life, 
which  has  only  memory  of  yesterday  and  prevision  of  to- 
morrow, since  it  is  altogether  controlled  and  guided  by  sensa- 
tion. It  is  this  barrier  which,  whatever  may  be  said,  the  brute 
never  overleaps. 

Maine  de  Biran  has  excellently  described  this  difference  be- 
tween man  and  the  brute.  He  has  shown  with  singular  force 
of  demonstration  that  the  brute  never  attains  to  the  voluntary 
effort  which,  stimulated  by  resistance,  gives  the  ego  the  con- 
sciousness of  its  reality,  freedom,  independence,  and  which, 
as  it  rises  into  a  higher  sphere,  becomes  first  attention,  then 
reflexion,  so  that  the  ego  is  the  object  of  its  own  contemplation 
and  recognises  its  own  persistence  through  the  succession  of 
evanescent  sensations,  this  recognition  being  the  condition  of 
its  progress. 

The  brute  may  indeed  have  a  certain  intelligence,  a  certain 
life  of  the  affections,  but  it  never  attains  to  personality  or  free- 
will. Though  it  sometimes  rises  a  little  above  instinct,  it  is 
never  conscious  of  itself  as  a  free,  persistent,  progressive  being, 
really  distinct  from  the  things  around  it.  Still  more  evident  is 
it  that  it  knows  nothing  of  reason  and  its  laws,  of  conscience 
and  its  obligations,  of  free-will  and  its  high  perils.  Maine  de 
Biran  sums  up  in  the  following  passage  his  views  of  the  rela- 
tions between  man  and  the  brutes.  "  We  find  in  our  compound 
nature  various  facts  uncontrolled  by  the  will.  We  awake  sud- 
denly with  violent  and  hasty  movements,  under  the  impres- 
sion of  imminent  danger.  At  the  instant  of  waking,  the  ego, 
recovering  possession  of  its  domain,  grasps,  so  to  speak,  in 
the  very  act,  the  products  of  a  force  not  its  own  (though  it 
imitates  or  simulates  the  acts  of  the  ego),  and  at  once  arrests, 
suspends  them  and  begins  another  course  of  action  controlled 
by  the  will.  This  sort  of  contrast  or  passage  from  the  spon- 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  299 

taneous  to  the  voluntary,  enables  us  to  distinguish  that  which 
appertains  to  the  animal,  to  the  organised  autonomy,  and  that 
which  is  truly  of  the  man."  l 

In  the  animal  the  sensory  and  organic  faculties,  both  ex- 
ternal and  internal,  are  perpetually  exercised  like  those  of  a 
man  in  a  dreamy  or  somnambulistic  state.  And  herein  is  the 
essential  difference,  which  suffices  to  show  the  superiority  of 
human  nature  over  the  purely  animal,  apart  from  any  develop- 
ment of  the  mental  life.  BufTon  says  :  "  Can  we  not  conceive 
what  this  consciousness  of  existence  in  the  animals  is,  by  re- 
flecting on  the  state  in  which  we  find  ourselves  when  we  are 
so  deeply  absorbed  in  an  object  or  so  strongly  agitated  by 
passion  that  we  are  incapable  of  any  reflexion  on  ourselves  ? 
We  express  the  idea  of  this  state  by  saying  that  a  man  is 
beside  himself,  when  he  is  entirely  occupied  with  the  sensations 
of  the  moment.  This  is  the  habitual  state  of  the  animals."  2 

These  conclusions  will  be  confirmed  if  we  define  to  ourselves 
the  nature  of  instinct  by  means  of  the  keen  and  exact  analysis 
given  by  M.  Joly  in  his  book  on  man  and  brute.3  Instinct  is 
that  which  urges  on  the  animal  to  do  all  that  is  necessary  to 
life.  Its  organism,  to  whatever  race  or  species  it  belongs,  is 
so  constituted  that  it  has  special  needs  demanding  appropriate 
satisfaction.  It  naturally  seeks  to  avoid  those  things  which 
annoy  and  to  procure  those  which  gratify  its  natural  desires. 
Thus  are  formed  and  developed  in  it  desires  which,  in  their 
continuity,  become  tendencies  producing  movements  combined 
with  a  view  to  satisfying  its  wants.  Sensation  is  a  perpetual 
stimulus  to  desire,  and  therefore  to  emotion  which  tends  to  its 
satisfaction.  Imagination,  which  perpetuates  sensation,  quick- 
ens and  prolongs  the  desire,  and  the  corresponding  movement. 
Habit,  without  at  all  changing  its  nature,  impresses  on  these 
movements  a  certain  recurring  mode.  Such  is  the  genesis  of 

1  "  CEuvres  Incites  de  Maine  de  Biran."     Ernest  Naville,  p.  471. 

1  "  CEuvres,"  Buflfon,  vol.  iv.,  p.  303. 

•  "L'Homme  et  1' Animal,"  Joly,  Second  Part. 


300  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

instinct.  As  to  the  processes  which  the  animal  employs  to 
satisfy  its  needs,  we  have  seen  that  it  did  not  learn  them,  that 
they  are  innate,  while  at  the  same  time  they  are  absolutely 
dependent  on  its  organism.  They  vary  with  the  organism  of 
different  species,  and  are  entirely  governed  by  the  preponder- 
ance of  a  particular  sense.  The  sense  of  smell,  for  example, 
has  a  preponderating  influence  in  the  development  of  the 
instinct  of  animals.  Those  that  are  destitute  of  it,  like  the 
whale  or  the  camel,  are  exceptionally  stupid ;  those  in  which 
it  is  strong  evince,  on  the  other  hand,  great  keenness  of 
perception,  and  are  as  clever  in  the  chase  as  in  fleeing  from 
danger. 

"  Every  animal  finds  in  its  organisation  a  whole  volume  of 
exact  information  and  a  collection  of  appropriate  weapons  and 
tools.  The  result  is  a  combination  of  feelings,  images,  and 
spontaneous  motions,  which,  combining  and  recalling  one 
another,  infallibly  lead  it  to  its  desired  end.  Its  periodically 
recurring  wants  constrain  it  to  employ  particular  methods  of 
action,  and  to  allow  itself  to  be  guided  by  its  special  sensa- 
tions."1 The  organisation  of  an  animal  obviously  decides  the 
nature  of  its  food,  and  consequently  the  choice  of  places  where 
it  must  live,  whether  by  running  water,  or  on  a  marsh,  or  by  the 
sea,  or  in  trees.  The  hedge  warbler  avoids  heights  and  makes 
its  nests  in  low  shrubs,  because  it  flies  badly  ;  and  as  it  makes 
its  nests  several  times  in  a  year,  it  only  builds  lightly  with  dry 
grass.  The  swallow,  on  the  contrary,  being  strong  on  the  wing, 
makes  its  nest  very  high  and  builds  it  strongly,  using  as  cement 
the  abundant  saliva  which  its  beak  secretes.  Every  species 
of  bird,  according  to  Mr.  Wallace,  employs  the  materials  most 
easily  within  its  reach,  and  chooses  the  situation  best  adapted 
to  its  habits.  The  delicacy  and  perfection  of  the  nest  are 
always  proportioned  to  the  size  of  the  bird,  to  its  conformation 
and  habits.  The  strength  and  rapidity  of  flight,  on  which 
depend  the  distance  to  which  the  bird  will  go  in  search  of 
1  "  L'Homme  et  1' Animal,"  Joly,  p.  146. 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  301 

its  materials;  the  faculty  of  poising  itself  motionless  in  the  air, 
v/hich  determines  the  spot  where  the  nest  shall  be  built ;  the 
strength  and  prehensile  power  of  the  claw,  the  length  and 
sharpness  of  the  beak,  the  flexibility  of  the  neck,  the  salivary 
secretions — all  these  are  specialties  resulting  from  the  organ- 
ism, and  most  frequently  determining  the  nature  and  choice  of 
materials,  as  well  as  their  combination  and  the  form  and  posi- 
tion of  the  building. 

The  same  observations  may  be  made  with  regard  to  those 
architectural  marvels  which  we  admire  in  the  ant-hill  and  the 
beehive.  In  all  these  constructions,  often  so  perfect,  we  find 
no  trace  of  conscious  intelligence ;  their  perfection  from  the 
very  beginning  precludes  the  hypothesis  of  skill  developed  by 
the  exercise  of  an  art  learnt.  In  short,  the  animal  acts  from  a 
necessity  of  its  organism,  under  the  influence  of  desires  which 
are  awakened  by  sensation,  quickened  by  its  purely  sense- 
imagination.  Finally  it  is  guided  in  its  mode  of  operation, 
which  is  only  the  mode  of  its  combined  movements,  by  that 
sort  of  vague  divination  which  we  call  instinct  and  which  is 
always  in  harmony  with  its  organism.  While  instinct  is  re- 
latively infallible  from  the  outset,  it  possesses  nevertheless  a 
certain  capacity  of  modifying  itself,  if  the  organism  or  the  en- 
vironment have  undergone  some  change.  The  sensation  of 
pain  or  pleasure  is  always  the  prime  motor  of  action  in  the 
animal,  but  it  may  be  differently  affected  by  a  change  of  en- 
vironment, or  through  some  accidental  circumstance.  For 
example,  when  the  spider's  web  has  been  torn,  the  same  impulses 
which  led  it  to  weave  it  at  first,  incite  it  to  begin  again.  In 
the  same  way,  the  bee  and  the  ant  are  actuated  to  repair  the 
ruins  of  their  dwellings.  We  admit  that  in  these  reparative 
processes,  more  of  intelligence  blends  with  the  instinct  than  in 
the  first  act ;  but  it  is  still  intelligence  governed  by  necessity, 
not  going  beyond  the  orbit  denned  by  its  organism,  influenced 
as  it  is  by  the  changed  conditions  of  its  environment.  To 
build  the  hive  at  first  was  as  difficult  as  to  repair  it.  Do  we 


302  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

not  observe  a  modifying  and  reparative  force  constantly  at  work 
in  nature  ?  Does  not  the  plant  turn  away  its  roots  from  the 
stones  it  meets  with  in  the  earth?  M.  Joly  says:  "When 
the  animal  comes  in  contact  with  an  obstacle  which  impedes 
the  satisfaction  of  its  necessities,  those  necessities  assert  them- 
selves more  strongly ;  an  extraordinary  energy  is  developed ; 
all  the  natural  faculties  are  sharpened,  so  to  speak;  instinct 
brings  to  bear  all  its  resources.  All  the  secondary  or  con- 
secutive phenomena  of  instinct  indicate  a  change  either  in  the 
direction  of  deterioration  or  progress,  but  it  is  always  in  pro- 
portion to  some  similar  change  in  one  of  the  impelling  causes 
which  the  sensibility  of  the  animal  unconsciously  obeys. 
These  slight  accommodations  to  circumstances,  these  little  in- 
dividual variations  in  the  life  of  the  animal,  may  increase  in 
number,  but  they  do  not  at  all  alter  in  quality  ;  they  always 
arise  out  of  the  same  instinctive  demands — hunger,  love,  self- 
preservation.  They  only  repeat  the  same  movements,  those 
which  the  particular  nature  of  the  organs  demands  and 
necessitates  ;  they  are  guided  by  the  same  sense-impressions, 
which  are  themselves  always  special,  never  generalised.  If 
they  are  augmented  and  varied  at  all,  it  is  by  a  sort  of  memory 
and  imagination,  which  can  only  be  regarded  as  the  renewal  of 
the  first  sensations.  The  works  or  occupations  in  which  the 
animal  displays  such  apparent  variety  of  imagination  and  in- 
vention, remain  always  equally  perfect,  equally  uniform,  equally 
necessary."  1 

The  animal  is  so  dependent  upon  its  organism  that  it  never 
makes  use  of  anything  but  its  own  body  in  its  work ;  it  never, 
under  any  circumstances,  attempts  to  frame  a  tool,  even  in 
imitation  of  man;  because,  in  order  to  make  a  tool,  it  must  get 
beyond  the  orbit  of  its  necessities  and  native  impulses,  and, 
proceeding  on  past  experience,  believe  in  the  persistence  of 
the  laws  or  forces  of  nature,  as  certain  to  produce  the  same 
effects  under  analogous  circumstances  and  for  like  ends. 
1  "L'Homme  et  1' Animal,"  Joly,  pp.  178,  179. 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  303 

Further  :  the  animal  will  not  even  imitate  another  animal 
in  any  act  going  beyond  its  own  instinct;  the  hound  only 
pursues  the  game  to  which  it  is  accustomed,  and  is  perfectly 
stupid  on  another  scent.  According  to  Hubert's  observations, 
the  amazon  ants,  which  are  separated  from  the  auxiliary  ants, 
will  die  of  hunger  rather  than  do  the  work  of  the  labouring 
ants  and  make  the  chambers  necessary  to  their  preservation. 
The  animal  in  captivity  goes  through  the  same  operations  as 
in  its  wild  life,  even  if  they  are  no  longer  of  any  use  to  it.  It 
is  so  true  that  the  intelligence  of  animals  is  completely  con- 
trolled by  sensation,  that,  as  Buffon  says,  the  loss  of  one  sense 
is  sometimes  equivalent  to  the  loss  of  all ;  while  a  man  who 
has  become  blind  or  deaf  may  remain  otherwise  unchanged. 
We  must  distinguish  also  between  true  intellectual  develop- 
ment and  the  mere  imitation,  which  in  the  anthropoid  is 
carried  so  far  as  to  simulate  thought.  Monkeys,  as  Buffon 
shrewdly  says,  are  at  the  most  only  people  of  talent,  whom  we 
take  for  geniuses  ;  imitate  us  as  they  may,  they  are  only  beasts 
after  all. 

From  all  these  facts  it  follows  that  it  is  not  correct  to  main- 
tain as  do  MM.  de  Quatrefages  and  Milne-Edwards,  that  animal 
life  exhibits,  as  far  as  intelligence  is  concerned,  no  essential 
difference  from  the  life  of  man ;  that  the  difference  is  one  of 
degree,  not  of  kind.  In  support  of  this  view,  we  are  told  that 
the  animal  understands  and  remembers;  it  judges,  reasons, 
deliberates,  foresees ;  in  a  word,  it  thinks.  But  what  does  this 
matter,  if  it  thinks  without  knowing  it  ?  If  this  be  the  case,  it 
has  intelligence  minus  that  which  is  the  essential  character- 
istic of  intelligence  in  man  ;  this  so-called  intelligence  of  the 
animal,  is  unintelligent  intelligence,  unreflective  reflection,  free- 
will subject  to  necessity.  Herein  lies  the  fundamental  differ- 
ence between  man  and  the  animal.  The  intelligence  of  the 
animal,  as  M.  Ravaisson  says,  is  as  it  were  fascinated  by  its 
object,  and  alienated  from  itself.  The  proof  of  this  fascina- 
tion is,  that  none  of  these  intellectual  operations  of  the  animal, 


304  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

of  which  Milne-Edwards  exaggerates  the  significance,  can  be 
carried  on  apart  from  sensation,  or  can  so  rise  above  it  as  to 
distinguish  the  subject  from  the  object,  to  deduce  the  general 
from  the  particular,  and  to  formulate  a  law.  Attention  in  the 
animal  never  becomes  reflexion,  for  it  is  only  the  force  of  the 
sensation  which  makes  the  animal  attentive  ;  it  does  not  fix 
itself,  it  is  fixed  upon  a  certain  object  by  means  of  a  predom- 
inant sensation.  The  animal  does  not  possess  that  kind  of 
memory  which  is  a  reproduction  of  sensation  by  images,  and 
it  never  exhibits  the  creative  memory  which  freely  combines 
images.  Its  memories  are  proportioned  to  the  effect  produced 
upon  its  senses  by  things,  to  the  vividness  of  the  impression, 
and  the  impression  is  always  connected  with  the  predominance 
of  a  particular  sense,  like  that  of  smell  in  the  dog,  or  of  sight 
in  the  bird.  The  association  of  ideas  is  only  a  grouping  of 
sensations  connected  with  each  other,  without  any  reaction 
from  within.  Milne-Edwards  has  insisted  much  upon  the 
faculty  of  discernment  by  which  even  animals  of  quite  a  low 
type  distinguish  themselves  from  things  around  them  ;  but 
this  is  nothing  more  than  vague  sensation,  and  has  no  analogy 
with  the  sharp  distinction  between  the  ego  and  the  non  ego. 
To  ascribe  to  it  the  essential  principle  of  reason,  that  is,  the 
principle  of  causation,  because  it  has  a  vague  intuition  that 
its  action  under  certain  conditions  will  produce  a  special  result, 
is  to  ignore  the  general  character  of  that  principle.  The 
animal  never  gets  beyond  the  particular  direct  succession  of 
two  facts.  To  perceive  the  link  between  two  sensations,  is 
not  to  formulate  a  cause,  nor  to  reason.  The  animal  is 
simply  passive  and  does  not  attempt  to  see  the  reason  of  any- 
thing. To  speak  of  morality  in  animals  because  we  can  influ- 
ence them  by  blows  or  rewards,  is  to  misuse  terms.  We  find 
the  rudiments  of  all  our  intellectual  acts  in  the  animal,  but 
nothing  more;  just  because  there  is  wanting  the  master  faculty 
— free-will,  which  breaks  through  the  bounds  of  instinct  and 
constitutes  the  personality.  The  sexual  instinct  is  at  the  root 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE.  305 

of  all  its  affection,  and  it  does  not  rise  to  moral  life  in  this 
sphere  any  more  than  in  that  of  knowledge. 

We  claim  the  moral  life,  then,  as  the  exclusive  appanage  of 
man,  which  constitutes  at  once  his  glory  and  his  danger ;  for  it 
is  just  because  he  is  not  led  by  infallible  instinct,  and  is  not 
simply  a  creature  of  nature,  but  a  creature  who  has  freely  to 
develop  his  own  personality  in  the  domain  of  the  intellectual 
and  emotional  life,  and  to  perfect  his  own  being,  without  the 
fatal  constraint  of  physical  necessities,  that  he  may  fail  in  the 
great  purpose  of  his  being.  He  fails  miserably  when  he  does 
not  fulfil  the  higher  laws  of  his  nature.  Nevertheless  the  fact 
remains  that  he  alone  shakes  off  the  life  of  pure  instinct  and 
controls  the  tumultuous  flow  of  fugitive  sensations ;  he  alone 
comes  to  know,  not  merely  to  perceive ;  he  alone  expresses  that 
which  he  knows  by  signs  which  are  not  mere  manifestations  of 
sensation ;  he  alone  speaks ;  he  alone  transforms  the  sexual 
impulse  into  love,  knows  what  devotion  means,  and  practises 
it ;  he  alone  recognises  moral  obligation,  its  laws  and  its  sanc- 
tions, as  something  higher  than  either  pain  or  pleasure,  and 
feels  himself  subjected  to  the  ordeal  of  free-will.  Lastly,  from 
an  assembly  of  individuals,  linked  together  by  the  most  power- 
ful of  instincts,  he  educes  the  social  order,  the  life  of  the  family, 
the  city,  the  race.  By  the  power  which  lie  possesses  of  bring- 
ing reflexion  to  bear  on  sensation,  he  preserves  that  which  he 
has  acquired  in  the  past,  as  a  treasure  to  which  he  is  constantly 
adding,  and  he  anticipates  the  future  by  that  law  of  progress 
which  is  incompatible  with  a  life  of  pure  instinct.  We  may 
say,  therefore,  with  Quinet,  that  between  man  and  the  brute 
there  intervenes  all  history.  More  than  this,  man  possesses 
an  undefinable  something,  not  of  the  world,  and  yet  an  essen- 
tial part  of  his  being,  which  fills  him  with  yearning  and  aspira- 
tion. This  is  in  truth  that  religious  element,  the  importance 
of  which  is  so  great,  that  some  eminent  naturalists  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  make  it  man's  one  distinctive  trait 

We  shall  look  one  by  one  at  these  various  manifestations  of 

x 


306  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

the  human  personality  constituted  by  free-will.  The  origin  of 
language ;  the  various  developments  of  social  life ;  the  origin 
of  morality  and  religion ;  these  are  the  subjects  to  which  we 
shall  now  turn  our  attention.  They  have  been  brought  very 
prominently  before  us  of  late  by  the  polemics  of  the  day.1 

1  In  a  recent  work,  Biichner  has  brought  together  all  the  information 
derived  from  experiments  made  by  Hubert,  Forel,  Sir  John  Lubbock,  and 
others,  in  relation  to  the  mental  development  of  animals.  The  author  tries 
to  put  them  as  nearly  as  possible  on  a  level  with  man.  In  fact,  they  should 
be  placed  far  above  man,  for  no  artistic  genius  is  equal  to  that  of  bees,  ants, 
and  termites,  if  those  marvels  of  construction  of  which  we  are  told  are  to  be 
attributed  to  the  development  of  intelligence,  and  not  to  instinct.  We 
must  allow  a  good  deal  in  these  marvels  for  the  imagination  of  the  author, 
especially  as  several  of  the  facts  he  quotes  rest  only  upon  a  single  testi- 
mony, as  for  instance,  that  of  the  agricultural  life  of  the  termites  in  South 
America,  with  its  seed-time  and  harvest.  In  many  other  cases  the  interpre- 
tations seem  to  us  purely  arbitrary.  To  transform  the  care  taken  by  the 
bees  to  free  the  hive  of  the  incumb ranee  of  dead  bodies,  into  a  burial  ser- 
vice, and  to  speak  of  an  expression  of  offended  justice  in  the  look  of  the 
bee,  is  to  make  very  free  use  of  hypothesis.  If  we  adhere  to  the  facts 
proved,  we  shall  find  throughout  Biichner's  book  confirmation  of  our  state- 
ment that  sensation  absolutely  predominates.  Give  honey  to  these  highly 
civilised  ants,  and  they  will  leave  both  their  larvae  and  their  work.  That 
admirable  institution,  slavery  in  the  hive,  is  primarily  caused  by  the  inca- 
pacity of  the  amazon  to  provide  for  its  own  nourishment ;  it  is  therefore  a 
physical  necessity.  These  warrior  ants  will  kill  their  larvae  and  kill  them- 
selves, rather  than  not  satisfy  their  savage  instinct.  The  termites,  on  the 
contrary,  not  being  of  a  fighting  nature,  will  never  fight,  however  great  the 
danger.  Biichner  admits  that  these  incomparable  artists  have  no  tool  but 
their  head,  which  is  solid  enough  to  serve  as  a  hammer.  The  differences 
of  organism  determine  the  disposition  of  the  parts  to  be  played— queen, 
workers,  or  soldiers, — and  this  difference  is  marked  even  in  the  egg.  A 
change  of  food  is  enough  to  produce  the  functional  varieties  in  the  bees. 
The  life  of  the  affections  is  no  less  subject  to  sensation.  When  the  queen 
is  no  longer  of  any  use,  when  she  has  fulfilled  her  maternal  mission,  she  is 
pitilessly  put  to  death.  So  are  the  males  after  pairing  has  been  accom- 
plished in  the  air.  The  royal  cells  are  only  taken  care  of  during  the 
swarming  time  ;  after  that  they  are  destroyed.  If  the  queen  loses  her  an- 
tennae, she  loses  the  sense  of  her  maternal  duties.  According  to  Biichner's 
own  testimony,  then,  the  animal  life  appears  to  be  completely  subordinated 
to  sensation. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LANGUAGE:    ITS    ORIGIN  AND   INFLUENCE    ON 
KNOWLEDGE. 

To  express  his  sensations  by  physical  acts,  gestures,  or  excla- 
mations, is  a  property  belonging  alike  to  the  animal  and 
to  man.  It  is  beyond  question  that  the  animal  makes  itself 
understood  by  its  congeners,  as  well  as  by  the  other  species 
with  which  it  comes  in  contact.1  The  barking  of  the  dog, 
the  neighing  of  the  horse,  and  still  more  the  song  of  the  bird, 
go  through  a  scale  of  sounds  corresponding  to  particular  sensa- 
tions and  to  purely  instinctive  feelings,  such  as  joy  and  grief, 
and  even  to  a  certain  sort  of  affection.  Insects  have  their  own 
methods  of  communication  j  they  give  each  other  necessary 
information  by  touching  antennae.  This  kind  of  language, 
however,  as  our  opponents  themselves  admit,  does  not  rise  to 
a  level  with  speech.  Man  is  man  only  because  he  speaks. 
Language,  as  Max  Miiller  well  says,  is  the  Rubicon  which  the 
animal  never  crosses,  because  it  reveals  a  direct  operation  of 
reason ;  it  is  reason  expressed,  just  as  reason  is  unexpressed 
language.  The  word  logos  combines  both  meanings.  Let  us 
analyse  this  great  essentially  human  fact,  so  that  we  may  com- 
prehend its  import. 

Man,  like  all  animated  beings,  communicates  his  sensations 
or  his  feelings  by  signs,  that  is  to  say,  by  bodily  acts  which 
reveal  the  phenomena  passing  within.  We  must  make  between 
these  signs,  whatever  their  form,  the  same  great  distinction 

1  "  Le9ons  de  la  Physiologic  et  d' Anatomic  Comparee  de  I'llomme  et  dcs 
Animaux,"  vol.  xiv.,  p.  91. 

307 


308  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

which  we  have  made  between  that  which  belongs  to  the 
domain  of  instinct  and  that  which  is  reflective,  voluntary,  or,  to 
speak  more  exactly,  conscious.  Bodily  manifestations  which 
translate  the  life  within,  address  themselves  sometimes  to  the 
eye,  sometimes  to  the  ear.  The  latter  are  infinitely  superior 
to  the  former,  because  they  bring  into  play  a  far  greater  variety 
of  signs.  This  superiority  of  method,  however,  is  not  appre- 
ciable, till  the  instinctive  life  is  left  behind.  It  is  enough  that 
the  signs  appealing  to  the  eye  be  voluntary  and  conscious,  to 
mark  them  as  proper  to  humanity  alone,  and  as  already  appre- 
hended by  the  reason  as  language.  Gestures  and  the  play  of 
the  features  are  signs  of  this  order.  The  superiority  of  man 
is  very  strikingly  exhibited  when  his  face  is  illumined  by 
thought  or  affection.  There  are  moments  when  the  corporeal 
form  becomes  so  transparent  that  the  mind  transfigures  it. 
Two  signs  are  specially  human  :  laughter  and  tears.  Both 
imply  something  beyond  mere  sensation.  We  only  laugh  when 
we  feel  the  contrast  between  that  which  is  and  that  which 
ought  to  be,  or  when  we  are  more  or  less  conscious  of  a  cer- 
tain incongruity.  No  smile  ever  played  upon  the  lips  of  the 
most  intelligent  anthropoid.  It  breaks — a  ray  from  the  higher 
life — even  on  "the  face  of  the  child;  but  it  only  gets  its  full 
sweetness  and  meaning  when  the  moral  life  is  truly  deve- 
loped. 

Even  in  the  play  of  the  features  we  find  a  language  tending 
to  become  peculiarly  human,  that  is  to  say,  intelligent,  volun- 
tary, conscious.  This  is  true  also  of  the  gesture;  it  often 
supplements  and  strengthens  speech ;  in  a  really  great  orator 
it  is  a  wonderful  instrument  of  power.  Gestures,  by  virtue  of 
their  conventionally  accepted  significance,  assume  all  the  cha- 
racters of  articulate  speech  in  conveying  thought  or  feeling, 
though  they  can  never  come  up  to  it.  With  the  deaf-and- 
dumb  they  act  perfectly  as  substitutes  for  sounds. 

It  is  only,  however,  when  language  is  addressed  to  the  ear 
that  it  exhibits  all  its  versatility,  and  lends  itself  perfectly  to 


LANGUAGE.  3O9 

the  purposes  of  thought.  Sound  is  brother  to  the  soul,  says 
Victor  Egger;  it  seems  to  share  in  its  immaterial  existence. 
Here  again,  however,  we  must  draw  a  distinction  between 
language  in  the  instinctive  period  and  in  a  later  stage,  when, 
by  the  exercise  of  reflexion,  it  has  received  the  seal  of  the 
individual  mind.  Language  is  at  first  only  a  cry  called  out 
by  sensation  ;  this  cry  becomes  more  or  less  modulated  and 
varied  in  its  inflexions,  in  exact  proportion  to  the  developing 
intelligence  of  the  child  uttering  it,  while  in  the  animal  it  never 
expresses  anything  beyond  sensations  ;  it  expresses  these  more 
or  less  clearly,  but  it  never  translates  t,hem  into  thoughts.  In 
man,  on  the  contrary,  a  mere  cry  may  reveal  his  higher  life, 
as  in  the  interjection,  which  is  sometimes  the  only  utterance 
he  can  find  for  his  intense  admiration  of  some  grand  object. 
For  the  most  part,  however,  the  cry,  even  in  man,  only 
expresses  feeling  in  the  instinctive  stage,  when  it  is  still,  so  to 
speak,  all  natural.  The  life  of  reflexion  only  finds  a  medium 
worthy  of  itself  in  that  marvellous  articulate  language  which, 
by  a  combination  of  various  organs,  translates  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  with  more  flexibility  and  more  finely  graduated 
tones  than  the  most  perfect  musical  instrument.  M.  Janet 
says  :  "  When  voice  has  been  produced  by  the  expiration  of 
air  which  sets  the  vocal  chords  in  the  larynx  vibrating,  the 
sounds  emitted  are  modified  in  their  passage  through  the 
pharynx.  The  nostrils  form  the  immovable  part,  the  tongue, 
lips,  and  roof  of  the  palate,  the  movable  part  of  the  organ. 
While  the  former  serve  only  as  a  sounding-board,  the  latter 
by  their  variations  produce  the  several  modes  of  articulation."1 
Articulate  language  is  the  harmonious  result  of  a  wonderful 
co-ordination  of  various  elements  and  successive  phenomena. 
Will  plays  a  leading  part  in  it ;  indeed,  it  alone  is  capable  of 
producing  it.  It  is  wonderful  to  notice  that,  ample  as  are 
the  modifications  of  which  articulate  utterance  is  capable,  it 
is  reducible  to  a  small  number  of  elementary  sounds — the 
1  "Physiologic,"  Janet,,  chap.  x. 


3io  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

vowels  and  consonants.1  Articulate  language  is  not  limited, 
like  the  cry,  to  sensation,  emotion,  or  even  to  that  state  of 
mind  in  which  we  are,  as  it  were,  carried  out  of  ourselves  by 
some  strong  excitement.  It  expresses  thought  in  all  its  fulness. 
First  it  represents  things,  whether  external  or  internal,  as  they 
appear  to  the  mind ;  then  it  throws  light  on  their  relations,  the 
influence  they  exert  upon  one  another,  and  the  modifications 
to  which  they  are  subject  in  their  various  relations. 

Let  us  look  more  closely  at  this  marvellous  instrument. 

Language  begins  by  designating  and  naming  objects.  Now, 
how  do  we  come  to  name  an  object  ?  Obviously  by  that  essen- 
tial act  of  the  reason,  which  is  called  abstraction.  We  should 
never  name  an  object  unless  we  gave  up  trying  to  represent  it 
in  its  totality  and  confused  complexity.  We  must  seize  some 
•leading  characteristic  feature  of  it,  isolate  that  feature  in  order 
to  designate  it,  and  consequently  eliminate  that  which  compli- 
cates or  encumbers  it.  For  example.  How  do  we  come  to  name 
and  designate  a  horse  ?  If  we  are  determined  to  express  all 
that  the  eye  can  take  in  :  the  colour,  shape,  height,  etc.,  it  can 
never  be  done,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  attributes  like 
these  are  common  to  a  multitude  of  other  creatures.  We 
must,  out  of  this  multiplicity  of  attributes,  seize  upon  some  one 
dominant  and  characteristic  trait;  we  must  isolate  this  from 
the  rest,  and  fix  it  by  an  appellation.  This  is  what  really  takes 
place.  The  horse  is,  in  the  primitive  Aryan  language,  a  thing 
that  runs.  This  is  a  first  abstraction.  But  a  second  is  needful 
to  bring  together  all  the  individual  horses  in  one  class.  Here 
abstraction  has  been  accompanied  by  generalisation,  another 
operation  appertaining  to  reason  alone.  We  arrive  then  at  the 
substantive  horse  by  these  two  characteristic  acts  of  the  under- 
standing. It  is  by  identical  processes  that  all  substantives  have 
been  formed.  Hence  we  find  that  the  roots  of  words  in  all 
languages  are  always  abstract  words.  Every  root  expresses  a 
general  idea.  Max  Miiller  says :  "  The  first  thing  really 
1  "  Physiologic."  Janet. 


LANGUAGE.  311 

known  is  the  general.  It  is  through  it  that  we  know  and 
afterwards  name  individual  objects,  of  which  some  general  idea 
can  be  predicated ;  and  it  is  only  in  the  third  stage  that  these 
individual  objects,  thus  known  and  named,  become  again  the 
representatives  of  whole  classes,  and  their  names  or  proper 
names  are  raised  into  appellatives."1 

All  naming  is  classification,  bringing  the  individual  under  the 
general.  "  Man,"  as  Max  Miiller  says  again,  "  could  not  name 
a  tree,  or  animal,  or  a  river,  or  any  object  whatever  in  which 
he  took  an  interest,  without  discovering  first  some  general 
quality  that  seemed  at  the  time  the  most  characteristic  of  the 
object  to  be  named."  2  For  the  most  part  man  has  fixed  upon 
that  which  most  forcibly  impressed  his  imagination.  Before 
man  named  the  horse,  that  which  runs,  he  must  have  known 
in  a  general  way  what  running  was ;  and  in  like  manner  in 
naming  the  bird,  that  which  flies,  he  must  have  had  some 
previous  acquaintance  with  the  act  of  flying.  If  language  thus 
proceeds  from  abstraction  and  generalisation,  we  can  under- 
stand why  it  is  designated  by  this  word  Ae'yeii/,  which  means  to 
choose,  to  collect ;  for,  in  order  to  form  the  root  by  which  the 
thing  is  nan)ed,  there  must  be  a  foregoing  choice,  eliminating 
all  its  secondary  characters  by  an  act  of  the  will,  conscious  in 
its  essence,  though  often  with  only  a  vague  and  latent  con- 
sciousness. 

Nothing  could  more  clearly  show  to  what  an  extent  reason 
is  present  in  the  elementary  operations  of  language,  or  could 
more  fully  justify  the  admirable  synonymy  between  speech 
and  reason  created  by  the  most  philosophical  of  languages  in 
the  word  Ao'yos,  which  represents  both.  The  development  of 
language  in  phrases  and  propositions  is  only  the  development 
of  reason  itself  connecting  the  attribute  with  the  subject  by 
means  of  these  same  processes  of  abstraction  and  generalisa- 
tion, and  of  the  verb  which  brings  into  play  the  principle  of 

1  "  Lectures  on  Ihe  Science  of  Language,"  Max  Miiller,  pp.  430-432. 
3  Ibid.,  vol.  ii.,  p.  68. 


312  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

causation — the  law  of  all  action.  There  is  not  a  single  propo- 
sition which  does  not  imply  a  judgment ;  and  judgments  in 
then  sequence  are  the  manifestation  of  the  natural  logic  of  the 
human  mind.  Reason,  then,  is  the  very  soul  of  language.  Is 
there  anything  at  all  analogous  to  it  in  the  cry  or  the  instinctive 
sign  of  the  animal  ?  Is  there  anything  in  that  cry  which  im- 
plies abstraction,  generalisation  ?  It  does  nothing  more  than 
express  a  sensation,  or  at  most  that  totality  of  sensations  sus- 
ceptible of  a  certain  development  which  constitute  a  want; 
it  never  goes  further.  Man,  on  the  contrary,  at  once  gets 
beyond  sensation,  want ;  he  goes  out  of  himself  and  names 
and  characterises  the  object  of  his  perception  ;  he  knows  it, 
and  makes  it  known.  We  thus  arrive  at  a  second  characteris- 
tic of  speech. !  The  inferior  language  of  the  animal  is  purely 
subjective,  sensational,  if  we  may  so  say.  It  has  attained  its 
end  when  it  has  expressed  that  which  the  animal  feels  ;  it 
attempts  no  more.  When  insects  concert  and  understand  one 
another  by  signs,  it  is  always  in  order  to  obtain  that  which 
instinct  requires,  or  to  escape  some  impending  danger.  Man, 
on  the  contrary,  even  under  the  pressure  of  sensation,  fixes 
on  the  object  which  has  excited  it,  names  it,  and  thus  rises 
above  the  mere  sense-impression  to  knowledge.  To  speak,  is 
to  know.  Soon  he  is  no  longer  content  to  designate  the 
object  of  his  knowledge,  simply  because  he  dreads  or  desires 
it ;  he  obeys  a  nobler  impulse ;  he  seeks  to  know  it  for  itself, 
impelled  by  a  higher  need  bom  of  and  developed  with  his 
reason. 

Speech  thus  becomes  the  great  instrument  by  which  man 
learns.  It  renders  learning  possible  by  virtue  of  those 
faculties  of  abstraction,  generalisation,  and  reasoning  in  which 
is  found  the  natural  logic  of  the  human  mind.  Moreover,  lan- 
guage preserves  the  treasures  acquired,  and  enables  man  to 
transmit  them;  for  as  it  rises  above  mere  sensation  so  as  to  ac- 
quire the  knowledge  of  the  object,  so  it  also  outlives  sensation. 
1  "  L'homme  et  1' Animal. "  Joly. 


LANGUAGE.  313 

The  animal  repeats  the  same  signs,  but  each  sign  is  as  fugitive 
as  it  was  spontaneous.  The  signs  are  repeated,  but  no  trace 
of  them  remains;  they  are  never  arranged  and  classified  so  as 
to  form  a  permanent  residuum  of  accumulated  and  accumu- 
lating experiences,  indicating  past  progress  and  preparing  for 
future  advances,  and  so  connecting  the  future  with  the  past. 

Words,  as  an  instrument  of  knowledge,  render  man  a  two- 
fold service.  First,  they  help  him  to  arrive  at  a  fuller  con- 
sciousness of  himself,  by  giving  a  precise  form  to  his  ideas. 
Victor  Egger  says  :  "  Reason  is  inward  speech,  as  human 
language  is  reason  externalised."1  The  mind  speaks  to  itself; 
it  describes  its  ideas,  its  feelings,  and  in  describing  it  explains 
them  to  itself.  The  reflective  life  of  the  mind  is  strengthened 
first  by  the  effort  requisite  to  the  internal  word,  and  next  by 
the  expression  which  it  gives  to  its  ideas  in  defining  them.  It 
is  like  the  intellectual  nebula  concentrating  itself  into  a  solid 
nucleus.  In  the  second  place  the  external  word  gives  forth 
these  ideas,  these  conceptions,  thus  brought  to  maturity.  It 
transforms  them,  sends  them  forth  into  living  and  fruitful 
circulation  in  the  thoughts  of  men,  and  finally  it  reacts  upon 
the  internal  word,  rendering  it  fuller  and  more  exact.  The 
internal  word  is  distinguished  from  the  external  as  a  weak  is 
distinguished  from  a  strong  state.  It  is  a  valuable  instrument 
of  the  intellect,  enabling  it  to  run  over  more  rapidly  the 
ever  growing  mass  of  images  which  compose  its  wealth.  Once 
created,  once  given  forth  as  the  echo  of  sonorous  sensation,  it 
seems  to  forget  its  origin  and  to  have  a  life  of  its  own,  for  it  is 
no  longer  compelled  to  seek  the  means  of  continued  life  at  the 
maternal  bosom  of  sensation.  It  rather  resembles  an  adult 
animal  endowed  with  an  independent  vitality.  It  breaks 
away  without  violence  from  its  source,  and  seeks  the  higher 
regions  of  being ;  henceforward  it  lives  by  thought  alone. 

Thought  leans  upon  language,  and  associating  itself  with  its 

1  "  La  Parole  Interieure.  Essai  de  Psychologic  Descriptive."  Victor 
Egger. 


314  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

life,  makes  it  almost  like  a  living  thing,  a  supple  vesture  which 
yields  to  every  movement,  and,  lending  to  thought  its  own 
brilliancy,  marks  it  out  clearly  upon  the  field  of  consciousness."1 
Whether  internal  or  external,  language  is  never  identical  with 
intelligence,  as  if  thought  resolved  itself  entirely  into  words, 
for  the  words  might  be  lost,  and  yet  the  thought  remain, 
though  vaguely,  as  is  shown  by  the  condition  of  our  mind 
when  we  are  seeking  a  fitting  expression  for  some  thought 
intuitively  present,  or  when  we  are  hesitating  which  to  choose 
among  several  synonyms. 

"A  mind  suddenly  deprived  of  the  inward  speech  would  not 
be  therefore  reduced  to  impotence,  but  only  hindered  as  a 
man  suddenly  deprived  of  sight,  or  a  blind  man  of  his  stick. 
The  inward  language  is  generally  a  fainter  echo  of  the 
sonorous  word,  of  the  uttered  sound.  To  the  deaf-and-dumb 
it  becomes  an  inward  tactile  image,  corresponding  to  the 
mimic  language  which  he  uses.  This  shows  clearly  the  in- 
dependence of  the  mind  in  relation  to  its  instrument." 
Human  language,  as  Victor  Egger  conclusively  shows,  is  essen- 
tially the  creation  of  man's  mind,  which,  by  its  faculty  of  gene- 
ralisation, frees  the  word  more  and  more  from  its  character 
of  mere  onomatopoeia,  and  thus  ceases  to  connect  it  solely 
with  one  of  its  attributes,  and  recalls  it  in  its  totality 
by  a  conventional  sign.  Here  then  is  a  positive  ope  at  ion 
of  intelligence.  Nor  is  intelligence  to  become  idle  after  this 
first  act;  for  it  is  of  the  nature  of  a  representative  sign  to 
lose  more  and  more  of  its  significance,  and  consequently  to 
annul  itself  as  the  result  of  what  Egger  calls  the  negative 
or  mechanical  habit,  if  it  is  not  in  some  way  revived  by  the 
active  habit,  or  attention.  "  The  positive  habit  quickened  by 
attention,  is  the  perfect  habit ;  by  it,  and  by  it  alone,  the  soul 
corrects  its  fundamental  law  of  gradual  dispersion,  by  intro- 
ducing into  the  process  elements  of  permanence,  harmony, 
and  relative  unity.  And  the  inward  word  seems  to  represent 
1  "  La  Parole  Interieure,"  Victor  Egger,  pp.  206,  207. 


LANGUAGE.  315 

in  us  the  perfection  of  positive  habit.  Attention  is,  in  the 
last  analysis,  the  principle  which,  transforming  negative  into 
positive  habit,  maintains  the  inward  word  in  a  state  of  per- 
petual and  conscious  activity.  As  a  positive  habit,  it  is  a  work 
of  the  soul ;  as  a  general  habit,  it  is  an  instrument  of  psychical 
activity."1 

We  must  refer  the  reader  for  the  working  out  of  these  ideas 
to  Victor  Egger's  book,  which  is  remarkable  for  the  fulness 
and  keenness  of  its  psychological  details,  to  which  no  summary 
can  do  justice. 

Human  speech,  then,  whether  as  making  the  reason  fully 
conscious  of  itself,  or  as  manifesting  it  in  articulate  words, 
differs  altogether  from  the  language  of  animals,  which  is  one  of 
mere  corporeal  signs.  We  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  there  is 
no  relation  between  the  two.  With  regard  to  speech,  as  to  his 
whole  existence,  it  may  be  said  that  man  begins  by  the  instinct- 
ive ;  only  there  is  in  man,  in  a  virtual  state,  something  more 
than  instinct,  an  element  of  higher  life,  not  to  be  developed 
from  instinct  alone  by  mere  evolution,  but  which,  coming  from 
a  higher  source,  will  in  the  end  transmute  instinct  into  some- 
thing higher.  Man  begins  indeed  with  a  cry,  the  corporeal 
sign,  but  he  does  not  stop  there,  and  rational  speech  is  not  the 
mere  perfecting  of  the  cry  which  was  wrung  from  him  by  his 
first  infantile  sorrows.  Neither  the  cry  nor  the  interjection 
contains  the  principle  of  abstraction,  of  generalisation,  of 
reasoning,  inherent  in  true  human  speech.  Max  Miiller  quotes 
approvingly  from  Home  Tooke's  "  Diversions  of  Purley,"  the 
following  passage  : — "The  dominion  of  speech  is  created  upon 
the  downfall  of  interjections.  Without  the  artful  contrivances 
of  language,  mankind  would  have  had  nothing  but  interjections 
with  which  to  communicate  orally  any  of  their  feelings.  The 
neighing  of  a  horse,  the  lowing  of  a  cow,  the  barking  of  a  dog, 
the  purring  of  a  cat,  sneezing,  coughing,  groaning,  shrieking, 
and  every  other  involuntary  convulsion  with  oral  sound,  have 
1  "La  Parole  Interieure,"  Victor  Egger,  pp.  205-207. 


316  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

almost  as  good  a  title  to  be  called  parts  of  speech  as  inter- 
jections have.  Voluntary  interjections  are  only  employed 
where  the  suddenness  and  vehemence  of  some  affection  or 
passion  returns  men  to  their  natural  state  and  makes  them  for 
a  moment  forget  the  use  of  speech,  or  when,  from  some  cir- 
cumstance, the  shortness  of  time  will  not  permit  them  to  exer- 
cise it." l 

The  advocates  of  naturalistic  transformism  have  endea- 
voured to  educe  speech  from  the  sign  or  cry  by  means  of 
evolution.  They  have  had  recourse  to  two  explanations,  the 
one  taken  from  pure  physiology,  the  other  from  animal  expe- 
rience combined  with  sexual  selection  and  the  law  of  heredity. 

The  physiological  explanation,  given  by  M.  Broca  with  his 
usual  precision,  is  based  upon  the*  localisation  of  the  faculty  of 
speech,  which  has  been  assigned  to  one  special  spot  in  the  left 
hemisphere  of  the  brain;  the  slightest  lesion  produced  in  this 
spot  brings  on  aphasia  in  various  degrees.2  This  faculty  then 
appertains  to  a  cerebral  development.  It  would  have  appeared 
in  the  higher  anthropoid  when  the  brain  had  undergone  a  suffi- 
cient modification. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this  theory,  that  the  localisation  of  the 
faculty  of  speech  is  not  so  evident  as  is  assumed,  since  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  in  default  of  the  left  hemisphere,  the  right 
can  perform  the  same  functions  in  a  tolerable  manner,  hence  the 
function  of  speech  is  to  a  certain  degree  independent  of  the 
organ.  This  relative  independence  may  very  well  be  admitted 
without  any  question  being  raised  as  to  the  fact  that,  in  relation 
to  speech  as  to  all  the  other  operations  of  the  mind,  the  func- 
tion is,  in  the  actual  condition  of  our  existence,  inseparably 
connected  with  the  organ.  In  any  case  the  physiological  ex- 
planation will  never  account  for  the  rational  element  in  human 

1  "  Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language,"  Max  Miiller,  p.  421. 

2  "  Bulletin  de  la  Societe  d' Anatomic,"  passim,  1861-1863.     "  Bulletin 
de  la  Societe  d'Anthropologie  de  Paris,"  1861,  63,  65,  66.     "  Philoso- 
phic," A.  Lefevre,"p.  531. 


LANGUAGE.  317 

language.  A  certain  disposition  of  the  cerebral  lobes  will  never 
enable  us  to  understand  the  faculty  of  abstraction  and  general- 
isation, and  will  never  bridge  over,  as  we  have  said,  the  un- 
fathomable abyss  between  motion  and  the  consciousness  of 
motion. 

The  explanation  which  Darwin  attempts  to  give  of  the 
origin  of  language  cannot  be  reconciled  with  that  of  M.  Broca, 
for  the  very  simple  facts  on  which  he  founds  his  theory,  would 
be  incapable  of  producing  any  transformation  in  the  cerebral 
organism.  According  to  Darwin,  in  order  to  explain  language 
we  must  find  some  sign  which  is  not  directly  associated  with 
present  sensation,  but  conventionally  in  use  ;  without  this  the 
scale  of  language  would  be  too  poor  and  would  contain  too  few 
notes.  He  professes  to  find  this  transition  from  the  sign  of 
pure  sensation  to  the  conventional  sign,  in  the  recollection 
which  the  animal  has  retained  of  certain  complex  motions  that 
have  been  useful  to  it  in  causing  a  certain  sensation,  and  which 
it  reproduces  by  force  of  habit,  even  when  this  sensation  is  no 
longer  directly  stimulated.  Thus  kittens  remember  the  pleasure 
felt  in  pressing  against  the  furry  bosom  of  their  mother,  and 
this  recollection  leads  them  to  press  in  the  same  manner 
against  any  soft  stuff.  This  habit,  transmitted  by  heredity,  pro- 
duces reflex  motions,  and  these  in  their  turn  produce  various 
signs,  more  and  more  independent  of  present  sensation.  We 
cannot  understand  how  these  signs  can  contribute  to  form  any- 
thing at  all  resembling  speech.  They  have  no  meaning  except 
as  they  express  a  sensation,  as  is  shown  by  the  example  of  the 
kittens  pressing  against  a  woolly  substance.  This  habit  of  press- 
ing against  soft  substances  will  always  bear  relation  to  a  sensa- 
tion, or  else  it  will  be  a  purely  mechanical  motion  without  any 
meaning.  Darwin,  in  order  to  explain  the  growth  of  signs, 
appeals  to  what  he  calls  the  law  of  contraries,  which  makes  it 
quite  natural  that  the  animal  which  has  expressed  in  some  way 
a  feeling  such  as  anger  should  give  a  directly  converse  expres- 
sion to  the  opposite  feeling.  We  ask  why  mere  instinct  does 


3i8  .       THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

not  suffice  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other.  Darwin  alsc 
adduces  the  direct  action  of  the  nervous  system,  which  causes 
the  face  to  contract  in  sorrow  and  expand  in  joy.1  Man  is 
thus  led  under  all  circumstances  to  express  in  the  same  way 
feelings  of  pain  or  pleasure;  but  as  this  result  is  produced 
purely  by  nervous  action,  this  does  not  give  us  the  true  con- 
ventional sign.  Finally,  appealing  to  sexual  selection,  Darwin 
assigns  a  great  influence  on  the  development  of  language  to 
the  experience  acquired  by  the  male  of  the  utility  of  varying 
and  modulating  his  song  in  order  to  attract  the  female.  He 
says  that  the  song  of  the  ourang-outang  under  such  circum- 
stances may  give  us  an  idea  of  the  brilliant  varieties  of  human 
language. 2  Why  should  the  ourang-outang  be  selected  for 
this  honour,  more  than  the  thrush  or  the  nightingale,  ,whose 
thrilling  raptures  of  song  have  never  suggested  a  resemblance 
to  the  words  by  which  man  names  and  characterises  things  ? 
All  these  explanations  appear  utterly  inadequate  when  we 
reflect  what  a  degree  of  rational  development  is  implied  in  the 
fitting  use  of  human  speech. 

We  freely  admit  that,  just  as  sensation  supplies  the  material 
for  intellectual  effort,  so  the  cry,  the  spontaneous  expression  of 
sensation,  is  the  starting-point  of  speech,  though  it  cannot  be 
its  cause.  In  this,  as  in  every  other  case,  it  is  the  formal  and 
final  cause  which  is  the  true  cause,  combining  and  disposing 
the  material  elements  in  view  of  an  end,  which  end,  in  the  case 
of  speech,  is  the  expression  of  the  reason.  Cries,  corporeal 
signs,  have  to  be  raised  from  the  pure  state  of  nature  or  of 
instinct,  to  the  life  of  thought,  reflective  life,  by  means  of  an 
inward  and  higher  principle.  Then  only  do  we  get  true  human 
speech.  Maine  de  Biran  says:  "While  man  is  in  the  instinctive 
state  all  his  impressions  are  confused,  the  ego,  not  having  yet 
distinguished  itself  from  outward  things,  distinguishes  nothing 
in  the  things,  isolates  nothing,  and  consequently  can  distinguish 

1  "  Expression  of  Emotions  in  Man  and  the  Animals."  Charles  Darwin. 
8  "Descent  of  Man."      C.  Darwin. 


LANGUAGE.  319 

nothing  specially,  which  is  the  essential  condition  of  language. 
He  must  then  first  of  all  get  to  know  himself,  distinguishing 
himself  from  the  things  about  him  by  an  effort  of  the  will ;  and 
he  then  applies  this  distinguishing  principle,  which  he  has 
realised  in  relation  to  his  own  being  as  a  whole,  to  his  various 
perceptions.  In  each  he  distinguishes  the  subject  from  the  at- 
tribute ;  he  is  able  to  affirm  the  distinct  existence  of  the  former 
and  to  use  the  verb  to  be ;  to  say  of  the  subject  that  it  is,  and 
to  say  also  by  means  of  attributes  hcnu  it  is,  that  is  to  say,  in 
what  manner  it  has  been  aftected.  The  subject  is  the  cause, 
the  motive  force ;  the  attribute  is  the  effect  produced.  In 
every  proposition,  therefore,  there  is  a  sort  of  renewal  of  the 
initial  act  which  constituted  the  ego.  Therefore  language,  in 
the  complete  sense,  is  proper  to  humanity  only,  because  it 
alone  is  capable  of  an  effort  of  volition." 1  Maine  de  Biran 
acknowledges  that  man  does  not  begin  with  this  thoughtful 
language,  which  is  the  affirmation  of  the  ego  by  the  will.  It 
needs  an  act  of  the  will  to  make  a  sound,  a  sign.  "  There 
comes  a  time  when  the  life  of  the  child  ceases  to  be  purely  of 
the  senses,  and  the  life  of  the  human  personality  begins.  2 
Then  begins  the  use  of  language,  which  does  not  express 
simply  needs,  but  also  ideas. 

It  does  not  follow  that  language  is  freshly  invented  by  each 
man.  The  signs  which  he  uses  have  become  more  copious 
from  generation  to  generation,  and  are  hereditarily  handed 
down.  The  child  learns  to  speak  from  its  parents,  who  com- 
municate to  it  all  the  processes  of  speech  more  or  less 
perfected  by  their  predecessors.  But  the  quickness  with  which 
he  appropriates  them  proves  that  he  possesses  not  only  organic 
aptitude,  but  the  intellectual  faculty  of  speech. 

If  we  inquire  into  the  origin  of  language,  we  must  repudiate 
alike  Bonald's  idea  that  it  is  due  to  a  direct  revelation,  and 
Rousseau's,  that  it  is  a  social  convention.  If  language,  in  form 

1  "  CEuvres  Posthumes,"  Maine  de  Biran,  vol.  iii.,  p.  161. 
8  Ibid.,  p.  141. 


320  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

and  substance,  in  idea  and  word,  was  a  direct  communication 
from  the  Deity,  man  would  be  an  entirely  passive  being,  the 
potter's  clay  moulded  by  Divine  power ;  he  would  not  be  a 
really  free  agent.  He  would  be  born  fully  developed.  God 
has  created  him  with  an  aptitude  for  language  and  the  faculty 
of  producing  it,  from  the  very  fact  that  he  has  endowed  him 
with  reason  and  free-will. 

The  convention  theory  will  not  bear  examination;  for,  in 
order  to  establish  a  language-convention,  speech  must  be  pre- 
supposed ;  and  no  subsequent  difficulty  could  be  so  great  as 
the  initial  one  of  determining  the  processes  of  speech,  and 
connecting  a  certain  meaning  with  every  sound.  How  this 
connexion  was  established  we  shall  never  know.  Did  man, 
in  primitive  times,  possess  a  keener  perception  of  the  har- 
monies between  nature  and  his  own  mind  ?  Max  Miiller  says 
that  the  origin  of  words  is  a  mystery  in  which  we  can  only 
recognise  a  sort  of  mental  instinct.  All  we  can  say  is,  that 
man  possessed  the  faculty  of  giving  articulate  expression  to  the 
conceptions  of  his  reason.  Certain  outward  impressions  pro- 
duced a  corresponding  vocal  expression,  a  cry,  an  interjection ; 
gradually  one  general  expression  grew  out  of  the  many,  and 
this  produced  the  root,  the  representative  sign  of  the  general 
idea  ;  and  all  this  went  on  in  accordance  with  the  reason,  which 
regulates  the  combination  of  external  impressions  so  as  to  form 
perceptions,  and  regulates  the  combination  of  perceptions  so  as 
to  form  general  ideas.  The  gradual  formation  of  roots,  which 
results  from  the  fusion  of  a  certain  number  of  natural  cries  or 
imitations  of  natural  sounds,  goes  on  ako  under  the  guidance 
of  reason.  We  have,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  process  of  rational 
selection. 

We  are  thus  led  to  assign  a  large  share  to  onomatopoeia  in  the 
formation  of  language,  with  the  reservation  that  the  mind  of 
man  has  never  confined  itself  to  mere  sound,  that  it  has  at  once 
associated  a  rational  meaning  with  it,  and  that  it  has  quickly 
arrived  at  its  root,  the  true  key  of  language,  since  its  principal 


LANGUAGE.  321 

characteristics  are  abstraction  and  generalisation.  The  fact 
remains,  nevertheless,  that  speech  has  always  been  in  close 
correlation  with  Nature,  through  sensation  directly  emanating 
from  Nature.  This  is  its  spring  and  source ;  thus  all  ideas, 
even  the  highest  and  most  spiritual,  are  enveloped  in  a  material 
form.  Human  language  is  a  tissue  of  metaphors  which  gradu- 
ally lose  their  vividness ;  it  is  an  herbarium  in  which  the  plants 
are  withered;  but  man  only  thinks  in  images;  and  his  spirit 
itself  is  expressed  by  a  metaphor,  since  it  is  called  a  breath. 
Just  as  the  soul  cannot  be  severed  from  the  bodily  shrine 
which  it  permeates  and  ennobles,  so  the  idea  is  enclosed  in 
language,  but  it  rises  above  it  in  its  purity,  like  the  flame  above 
the  torch  from  which  it  springs. 

It  is  of  the  essence  of  language  to  be  progressive.  We  see 
it  pass  through  three  stages  in  its  evolution  among  mankind. 
We  have  first  monosyllabic  tongues,  that  is  to  say,  those  in 
which  the  words  are  simply  roots,  without  any  indication  of 
person,  gender,  or  other  inflexion,  like  Chinese ;  then  we  have 
the  period  of  agglutination,  in  which  two  roots  join  to  form 
one  word,  the  first  root  retaining  its  independence,  and  the 
second  becoming  a  mere  modifying  affix  ;  lastly  we  arrive  at 
the  highest  stage  in  languages  with  inflexions,  in  which  the 
roots  become  fused  and  reciprocally  modified.  From  this 
stage  the  instrument  of  language  is  perfect ;  it  has  all  its  flexi- 
bility, and  lends  itself  to  express  anything.  When  writing  is 
added  to  fix  it,  and  give  it  an  indefinite  circulation,  the  es- 
sential conditions  of  progress  are  realised.  We  have  not  simply 
an  evolution  repeating  itself  in  a  limited  circle ;  we  have  his- 
tory, the  incessant  onward  march  of  mind,  advancing  from  stage 
to  stage.  Writing,  like  speech,  proceeds  from  an  innate  faculty 
in  man  for  reproducing  by  drawing  that  which  he  sees.  He 
only  attains  to  this  by  again  having  recourse  to  abstraction,  for 
he  can  never  reproduce  the  entire  object.  Writing  begins  by 
being  essentially  a  drawing;  then  it  develops  into  conventional 
signs  which  refer  to  sounds,  then  to  the  objects  themselves. 

Y 


322  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

After  the  ideographic  phase,  it  becomes  phonetic,  and  gradu 
ally  assumes  the  syllabic  and  alphabetic  form.  Arrived  at  this 
point,  it  is  able  to  fix  human  speech  in  all  its  complexity  and 
variety.1  But  admirable  and  striking  as  this  progress  is,  it  is 
only  the  development  of  a  primordial  faculty  which  could  never 
have  been  the  result  of  evolution.  This  is  true  of  language  in 
its  lowest  forms,  as  we  meet  with  it  in  the  deserts  of  Africa  or 
in  some  islands  of  Australasia.  We  feel,  with  Max  Miiller,  that 
no  analysis  or  any  other  process  will  educe  articulate  words 
from  the  song  of  birds  and  the  cries  of  animals. 

"  I  confess,"  exclaimed  Sydney  Smith,  in  one  of  his  whim- 
sical utterances,  full  of  good  sense,  "  I  feel  myself  so  much  at 
ease  about  the  superiority  of  mankind ;  I  have  such  a  marked 
and  decided  contempt  for  the  understanding  of  every  baboon  I 
have  ever  seen ;  I  feel  so  sure  that  the  blue  ape  without  a  tail 
will  never  rival  us  in  poetry,  painting,  and  music ;  that  I  see 
no  reason  whatever  that  justice  may  not  be  done  to  the  few 
fragments  of  soul  and  tatters  of  understanding  which  they  may 
really  possess." 

We  can  hardly  better  conclude  this  chapter  than  with  Hum- 
boldt's  words  :  "  Man  is  man  only  because  he  speaks  ;  but  he 
could  not  have  spoken  if  he  had  not  been  already  man." 2  In 
other  words,  in  order  to  discover  the  fittest  expression  and 
instrument  of  reason,  man  must  have  been  already  endowed 
with  reason,  and  raised  above  simply  instinctive  life ;  the 
conscious  being,  the  ego,  the  person,  must  have  been  already 
there. 

1  See  Philippe  Berger's  Article  on  Writing  in  the  ' '  Encyclopedic  Lich- 
tenberger." 

2  "  Der  Mensch  1st  nur  Mensch  durch  die  Sprache  ;  um  aber  die  Sprache 
zu  findenmusser  schon  Mensch  sein." — "  Sammtliche  Werke,"  Von  Hum- 
boldt,  vol.  in.,  p.  281. 


CHAPTER  V. 
HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.1 

MAN  is  essentially  a  social  being.  This  characteristic  he  has 
in  common  with  the  lower  animals  ;  and  it  has  naturally  been 
construed,  very  erroneously  as  it  appears  to  us,  into  another 
mark  of  his  identity  with  them.  In  this  instance  again,  the 
higher  life  is  based  upon  a  lower  instinctive  life ;  but  it  rises 
to  a  moral  elevation  which  a  mere  natural  evolution  would 
never  reach,  for  human  sociability  can  no  more  be  reduced 
to  the  pre-existent  elements  of  animal  sociability  than  reason 
and  consciousness  can  be  traced  to  the  simple  perfecting  of  the 
senses.  We  do  not  dispute  the  link  which  connects  sociology 
with  biology,  so  long  as  the  two  are  not  confounded,  which  is 
the  tendency  of  the  whole  naturalistic  school,  from  Auguste 
Comte  to  Herbert  Spencer. 

I.  SPECIFIC  CHARACTER  OF  HUMAN  SOCIETY. — SOCIAL 
CONTRACT. 

Let  us  first  look  at  the  fact  to  be  explained,  at  human 
society,  as  we  see  it  in  its  full  development ;  in  accordance 
with  Aristotle's  great  principle  that  the  true  nature  of  existence 

1  See  the  Introduction  to  the  "  Histoire  de  la  Sociologie  en  General,"  in 
M.  Espinas'  book  on  "  Les  Societes  Animales."  "  Systeme  de  Politique 
Positive,  "Auguste  Comte.  "  Introduction  to  Social  Science  "and  "Principles 
of  Sociology,"  Herbert  Spencer.  "La  Science  Sociale  Contemporaine," 
Albert  Fouillee.  "Origin  of  Species"  and  "Descent  of  Man,"  Darwin. 
Introduction  to  Buckle's  "  History  of  Civilisation  in  England."  "  Lois 
Scientifiques  du  Developpement  des  Nations."  "  Les  Colonies  Auimales 
et  la  Formation  des  Organismes,"  E.  Perrier. 


324  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

is  revealed  in  its  highest  development.  According  to  Aristotle, 
man  is  designed  for  social  life,  and  human  society  only  reaches 
its  highest  development  when  it  is  founded  upon  a  community 
of  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  of  just  and  unjust — when  it  becomes, 
in  a  word,  a  moral  organism.1  Aristotle  does  not  represent  this 
human  society  as  a  pure  creation  of  the  reason,  altogether 
apart  from  man's  lower  nature.  With  his  habitual  keen  and 
careful  observation,  he  shows  how  it  is  modified  by  the  influ- 
ence of  the  human  organism,  and  by  geographical  and 
historical  environment ;  how  there  is  nothing  arbitrary  in  its 
elements,  which  are  produced  in  such  exact  proportions,  that 
the  elimination  or  diminution  of  one  of  them  suffices  to  change 
the  whole  social  equilibrium.2  Municipal  government  is  simply 
the  outward  expression  of  the  social  organism,  the  bond  which 
holds  all  its  parts  in  due  subordination.3  But,  however  large  a 
part  we  assign  to  the  organic  conditions  of  human  society,  it 
will  still  be  distinct  from  any  other,  and  in  particular,  from 
animal  society,  inasmuch  as  it  alone  has  the  idea  of  justice.4 

This  characterisation  of  human  society  is  still  absolutely 
true,  after  so  many  centuries.  As  soon  as  an  aggregation  of 
men  emerge  from  barbarism,  their  relations  become  increasingly 
regulated  by  a  principle  of  justice.  Its  manifestations  may  be 
at  first  rude  and  imperfect ;  but  the  principle  of  right  is  already 
asserting  itself  and  regulating  the  mutual  relations  of  men, 
both  as  to  their  actions  and  the  exchange  of  property.  We 
admit  that  the  sphere  in  which  social  rights  are  recognised 
may  be  more  or  less  limited,  because  the  very  notion  of 
humanity  is  not  at  first  grasped  in  all  its  fulness.  It  is  only  at 
a  much  more  advanced  stage  that  man  is  respected  simply 
as  man.  It  -  is  at  first  the  select  few  who  have  asserted  their 
superiority  by  strength,  by  conquest,  or  by  age,  whose  rights 

1  Aristotle.     "  Politics,"  Book  I.  IO. 

8  Idem.     "Ethics,"  I.  5. 

«  Idem.     "Politics,"  Book  II.  6. 

4  Idem.     "  History  of  Animals,"  I.  10. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.         325 

are  recognised ;  but  those  rights  are  none  the  less  reciprocal. 
No  citizen,  unless  we  except  the  chief,  in  whom  the  State  is 
personified,  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  or  to  take  all.  It  is  not 
enough  to  be  the  strongest  in  order  to  offend  against  and  pillage 
at  will  those  who  share  our  social  life.  There  are,  doubtless, 
many  exceptions  to  this  rule,  but  the  rule  nevertheless  exists. 
Such  usurpations  soon  bring  down  chastisement  from  the  cen- 
tral power,  whatever  it  is,  for  its  essential  function  is  to  re- 
strain lawless  violence.  Social  justice  consists  in  recognising 
what  is  due  to  each  individual,  and  securing  it  to  him.  It  is  in 
relation  to  the  extent  of  this  protection  that  it  has  exhibited 
such  diversities.  Sometimes  it  has  ignored  rights  sacred  in 
themselves,  such  as  liberty  of  conscience,  as  in  the  State  of 
ancient  times,  which  allowed  no  difference  of  religion.  Some- 
times it  has  left  undefended  one  whole  section  of  the 
population,  ignoring  the  rights  of  the  vanquished,  the  weak, 
the  poor,  the  slave,  as  well  as  of  women  and  children  ;  but 
these  deplorable  limitations  have  never  completely  crushed 
the  rights  they  ignored.  Society  in  its  progress  has  removed 
these  limitations  one  after  another,  and  has  come  to  recognise 
not  only  the  rights  of  the  patrician,  the  citizen,  the  head  of  the 
family,  but  also  the  rights  of  man  as  man,  and  to  lend  to  them 
the  sanction,  not  only  of  a  despotic  or  aristocratic  power,  but 
of  the  supreme  will  of  the  nation,  which  puts  restriction  on 
itself  and  appoints  a  government  to  be  the  guardian  of  justice 
under  the  control  of  liberty. 

It  matters  little  that,  in  opposition  to  this  grand  idea  of  human 
society,  we  are  reminded  how  slowly  it  has  been  evolved,  and 
how  often  history  has  belied  it.  We  adhere  to  Aristotle's 
principle,  that  a  thing  is  to  be  judged  of  by  its  highest  possi- 
bilities ;  and  we  unhesitatingly  affirm  that  society,  as  we  see  it 
to-day  in  its  best  form,  as  moulded  under  the  two-fold  influ- 
ence of  the  Reformation  in  the  i6th  century,  and  of  the  French 
Revolution,  is  the  true  human  society  answering  to  its  ideal 
destiny.  This  ideal  has  been  in  action  all  through  the  dim 


326  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

preliminary  stages,  like  the  hidden  ferment  which  educes  from 
inorganic  and  apparently  incoherent  elements  the  organisation 
of  the  ultimate  being. 

In  this  characterisation  of  human  society  we  are  entirely 
at  one  with  an  eminent  philosopher  whom  no  one  certainly 
will  accuse  of  being  biassed  in  favour  of  spiritualism.  M. 
Fouillee,  in  his  book,  "  La  Science  Sociale  Contemporaine," 
acknowledges  with  Aristotle,  "  that  in  order  to  understand  things 
and  persons  in  the  social  world,  as  in  the  physical,  we  must 
try  to  apprehend  them  in  their  essence  and  their  end,  that  is  to 
say,  in  their  natural  perfection  and  in  their  highest  possibility; 
and  that  this  is  the  true  state  of  nature  of  which  Rousseau 
wrote  in  the  i8th  century.1  This  highest  development  of 
human  society  he  recognises,  as  we  do,  in  the  establishment 
of  justice,  by  liberty.  In  this  way  the  true  social  contract 
is  realised,  a  thing  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  Utopian 
creation  known  under  that  name.  It  has  no  analogy  with  that 
sort  of  arbitrary  convention  concluded  one  fine  day  by  savages 
under  the  leafy  shades  of  the  virgin  forest,  without  any  expla- 
nation given  of  the  way  in  which  these  savages  became  so 
suddenly  enlightened,  or  how,  after  fighting  over  their  acorns, 
they  arrived,  after  a  hasty  deliberation,  at  the  pact  of  justice 
and  freedom,  which  must  indeed  have  been  long  in  practice 
before  they  could  be  competent  to  conclude  it.  This  is 
Rousseau's  illusion  and  error.  That  which  is  profoundly  true 
in  his  idea  is,  that  society  is  not  really  founded,  that  it  is 
not  truly  human,  till  it  rises  from  mere  natural  and  instinctive 
sociability,  to  mutual  consent,  by  virtue  of  which  each  of  its 
members  is  a  free  agent,  and  bound  to  the  maintenance  of 
liberty.  By  virtue  of  all  these  consenting  liberties,  society 
from  a  simple  natural  fact  becomes  a  moral  human  fact.  We 
need  not  dwell  on  all  the  mistakes  which  the  great  tribune 
of  the  i8th  century  made  in  his  first  conception ;  the  gravest 
of  them  was,  that  he  made  individual  liberties  the  basis  of 
1  "La  Science  Sociale  Contemporaine,"  p.  76. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        327 

tyranny,  by  not  allowing  them  to  unite  to  form  an  absolute 
central  power,  and  so  to  be  altogether  merged  in  a  col- 
lective sovereignty.  This  mistake  notwithstanding,  he  rightly 
based  human  society  upon  the  consent  of  its  members. 
Rousseau  is  in  error  when  he  asserts  that  this  consent  really 
creates  society,  as  if  it  had  no  existence  before.  On  this  point 
the  historical  school  is  altogether  right.  Society  exists  already, 
in  the  natural  state  of  man,  but  the  natural  must  become  a 
moral  fact ;  and  in  order  to  this  there  must  be  man's  free-will 
placed  at  the  service  of  that  idea  of  justice  and  right  which 
exists  in  him  in  a  virtual  state  and  forms  part  of  his  higher 
nature.  It  is  his  moral  nature  which,  in  developing  itself,  or 
rather  in  manifesting  itself  by  acts  at  once  free  and  conscious, 
raises  society  in  fact  andof  necessity  to  the  height  of  a  self- 
constituted  organism.  In  this  sense  it  may  be  said  that  the 
social  contract  is  doubly  natural,  without  at  the  same  time 
giving  place  to  any  of  Rousseau's  illusions.  The  true  evolution 
of  society,  which  raises  it,  like  all  the  rest  of  man's  existence, 
from  the  purely  instinctive  state  in  which  it  commences,  to  a  life 
of  liberty,  morality,  and  reflexion,  consists  in  the  ever  grow 
ing  recognition  of  the  rights  of  man,  in  their  voluntary  ac- 
ceptance and  sanction  by  law,  and  in  the  elective  designa- 
tion of  the  power  which  is  to  be  entrusted  with  their 
maintenance  and  application.  As  M.  Fouille'e  says — the  ideal 
State  has  for  its  materials  and  instruments  natural  forces ;  but 
its  plan  and  governing  idea,  that  is  to  say  the  universal  con- 
tract, ought  to  be  present  in  the  thoughts  of  every  individual.1 
That  which  constitutes  a  true  human  society,  is  the  act  of  the 
will  by  which  men  recognise  and  accept  their  present  and 
past  relations,  and  agree  on  a  common  rule  for  the  future.2  In 
social  science  everything  depends  on  the  essential  relation 
between  the  constituent  elements  of  society,  that  is,  on  the 
individual.  This  primitive  relation,  this  first  combination,  of 

1  "  La  Science  Sociale  Contemporaine,"  Fouillee,  p.  17. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  21. 


328  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

which  all  the  rest  is  to  be  only  a  transformation,  is  the  contract 
which  maintains  the  equality  of  the  various  liberties  in  their 
mutual  association.  Liberty  is  the  supreme  end  in  view.1  In 
human  society,  men  come  to  recognise  and  determine  the 
totality  which  they  have  to  form,  the  State  in  which  all  are 
to  live.  Human  society  is  an  organism  which  is  realised  by 
means  of  its  own  conception  and  volition,  a  society  consciously 
and  voluntarily  compacted  by  reasonable  beings,  an  organism 
which  is  the  result  of  choice,  not  of  necessity.2 

This  same  moral  and  conscious  character  is  exhibited  in 
all  spheres  of  society,  from  the  individual  family  to  the 
great  human  family,  including  all  the  separate  States.  This 
clearly  marks  the  immeasurable  distance  between  man  as  a 
social  being  and  the  animal.  In  the  animal,  sympathy  is 
wholly  instinctive;  in  man,  intelligent  wills  recognise  each 
other,  and  are  united  by  a  higher  bond,  that  of  mutual  con- 
sent or  contract.  "  Human  society  is  a  voluntary  organism/' 3 

Such  is  the  social  fact  in  its  highest  development,  that  is,  in 
the  full  realisation  of  the  idea  inherent  in  humanity,  and  this 
by  the  admission  of  a  philosopher  who  concludes  by  tracing 
all  back  to  mere  mechanical  laws.  M.  Fouillee  recognises  in 
fact  only  one  and  the  same  evolution,  from  the  aggregation  of 
molecules  which  forms  the  mineral,  to  human  society  founded 
-upon  mutual  consent  and  contract.  If  he  admits  the  idea  of 
liberty,  he  at  the  same  time  deprives  it  of  all  reality,  for  he 
accepts  absolute  determinism  for  the  usual  reasons  which 
we  shall  discuss  presently  in  treating  of  the  origin  of  morals. 
According  to  him,  the  idea  of  liberty  is  one  of  those  motor- 
ideas  which  become  causes  of  action,  and  produce  by  illusion 
the  same  effects  as  if  they  were  real.  The  idea  is  in  reality  a 
ferment,  though  it  corresponds  only  to  a  chimera.  Therefore 
the  idea  of  liberty  alone,  absolutely  contrary  as  it  is  to  the 

1  "  La  Science  Sociale  Contemporaine,"  Fouillee,  pp.  72,  73. 
8  Ibid.,  p.  91. 
•  Ibid.,  p.  251. 


HUMAN-  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        329 

reality  of  things,  is  enough  to  mould  human  society  and  to 
introduce  into  it  mutual  consent  or  contract. 

This  motley  theory  abounds  in  paradoxes.  We  object  first 
of  all,  that  this  assumed  consent  is  a  deception,  a  fiction,  or 
else  liberty  would  be  a  reality  and  there  would  be  a  breach  in 
M.  Fouillee's  Chinese  wall  of  absolute  determinism.  If  the 
contract  is  a  fiction,  the  idea  of  liberty  has  no  efficacy.  It 
follows  that  its  motor-ideas  are  pure  abstractions;  for  ideas 
which  produce  no  real  effect,  are  without  any  real  force. 
Again,  how  can  we  allow  that  these  motor- ideas  effect  any 
social  progress  whatever,  since,  in  order  to  effect  it,  we  must 
believe  in  it ;  and  the  ideas  can  only  be  efficacious  in  the 
measure  in  which  they  are  believed  ?  Now,  as  it  is  in  the 
nature  of  social  progress  to  diffuse  true  notions  of  things,  it 
will  infallibly  dispel  the  illusion  contained  in  the  idea  of 
liberty.  It  will  lead  enlightened  minds  to  regard  it  more 
and  more  as  a  mere  illusion  ;  hence  it  will  become  increasingly 
powerless.  That  which  M.  Fouillee  himself  assigns  as  the 
cause  of  social  progress  will  be  paralysed  and  stultified  by 
that  very  progress.  It  would  be  curious  to  see  in  what  way 
M.  Fouillee  would  escape  from  this  vicious  circle.  Whence 
comes  this  motor-idea  ?  Of  what  vapour  is  this  strange  light 
composed,  which  is  at  once  a  will-o'-the-wisp  and  a  safe 
guide  for  humanity?  How  has  mankind  come  to  know  it? 
How  has  it  attained  to  consciousness  of  itself,  to  thought, 
volition,  the  conception  of  justice?  M.  Fouillee  refers  us  to 
the  mechanical  applications  of  materialistic  evolutionism,  con- 
sciousness being  only  the  obverse  of  motion,  its  inner  aspect. 
As  it  is  not  really  distinct  from  motion,  it  exists  in  a  latent 
state  in  all  the  cosmic  forces,  and  may  become  gradually  dis- 
engaged from  them.  We  will  not  repeat  here  the  arguments 
we  have  already  used  against  these  mechanical  explanations, 
which  arbitrarily  obliterate  the  difference  between  phenomena 
so  dissimilar  as  motion  and  consciousness  of  motion.  Let 
us  only  observe  that  M.  Fouillee  has  made  his  task  particu- 


330  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

larly  difficult  by  defining  so  clearly  and  amply  as  he  has 
done,  the  specific  characteristic  of  human  society,  in  which 
he  recognises  the  evidence  of  design,  of  conscious  design,  of 
the  idea  of  purpose  in  view,  of  reflective  thought,  of  the  affir- 
mation of  the  will,  and  finally  of  mutual  consent.  We  find 
it  impossible  to  imagine  how  he  can  abruptly  educe  this 
design,  consciousness,  will,  from  the  primitive  nebula,  which 
does  not  contain  them  even  virtually,  and  how  that  which 
he  calls  a  purely  mechanical  sympathy  in  the  animal,  becomes 
in  man  the  concurrence  of  intelligent  and  conscious  wills, 
cognisant  of  each  other  and  united  together  by  a  higher  bond. 
Either  less  must  be  accorded  to  human  society,  or  this  wholly 
mechanical  biology,  which,  by  the  way,  its  author  simply 
affirms  without  proving,  must  be  abandoned. 

II.  REFUTATION  OF  THE  SOCIOLOGY  OF  POSITIVISM  AND  OF 

THE    RECENT    GERMAN   AND    ENGLISH    PSYCHOLOGY. 

AUGUSTE    COMTE,  LlTTRE,    BUCKLE,  BAGEHOT,  JAGER, 
HERBERT  SPENCER. 

The  inconsistency  which  has  struck  us  so  much  in  one  of 
the  latest  and  most  brilliant  attempts  at  a  theory  of  contempo- 
rary sociology,  we  find  at  the  very  source  of  the  great  intel- 
lectual movement  whence  have  proceeded  all  the  attempts  to 
divest  human  society  of  its  moral  character.  Auguste  Comte, 
in  his  great  system  of  positive  philosophy,  was  the  first  who 
attempted  to  connect  sociology  closely  with  the  physical 
sciences.  Sociology  was  the  topstone  of  his  edifice,  but  it 
was  made  so  dependent  on  the  lower  storeys,  as  to  be  really 
inseparable  from  them.  Thus  he  called  it  social  physics,  and 
thus  describes  its  place  among  the  natural  sciences.  "  Thus  we 
have  before  us  five  fundamental  sciences  in  successive  depend- 
ence : — Astronomy,  Physics,  Chemistry,  Physiology,  and  finally 
Social  Physics.  The  first  considers  the  most  general,  simple, 
abstract,  and  recondite  phenomena  known  to  us,  and  those 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        331 

which  affect  all  others  without  being  affected  by  them.  The 
last  considers  the  most  particular,  compound,  concrete  pheno- 
mena, and  those  which  are  the  most  interesting  to  man.  Be- 
tween these  two,  the  degrees  of  speciality,  of  complexity,  and 
individuality,  are  in  regular  proportion  to  the  place  of  the 
respective  sciences  in  the  scale  exhibited.  This — casting  out 
everything  arbitrary — we  must  regard  as  the  true  filiation  of 
the  sciences."1  Auguste  Comte  assigned  indeed  to  social 
physics  a  field  of  observation  apart ;  but  it  was  none  the  less 
entirely  governed  by  the  laws  of  the  mechanical  or  physio- 
logical sciences.  He  sought  first,  in  his  biology,  the  outline 
of  the  laws  which  govern  social  facts ;  and  it  must  be  allowed 
that  he  did  this  with  rare  sagacity.  Littre',  who  has  been  more 
faithful  than  his  master  to  this  physiological  point  of  view, 
expresses  it  in  terms  sufficiently  clear  :  "  It  is  hardly  needful 
to  point  out  the  relation  of  subordination  in  which  sociology 
stands  with  regard  to  biology.  The  study  of  man  as  a  social 
being  is  necessarily  based  upon  the  study  of  man  as  an  indi- 
vidual ;  thus  it  requires,  in  order  to  give  consistency  to  its 
theories,  a  knowledge  of  the  general  conditions  under  which 
life  manifests  itself."2  Littre'  goes  so  far  as  to  subordinate 
sociology  entirely  to  biology ;  he  makes  the  former  absolutely 
dependent  upon  the  latter,  although  it  is  its  necessary  com- 
plement as  showing  its  ultimate  purpose.  Social  physics  is  a 
resultant  of  general  physics.  Progress,  in  the  history  of 
humanity,  consists  in  attaining  to  this  positive  conception  of 
things,  in  leaving  behind,  in  relation  to  this  subject  as  to 
others,  the  theological  and  metaphysical  state  of  the  human 
mind,  in  order  to  arrive  at  the  purely  scientific  or  positive  state. 
The  mechanical  explanation  of  the  social  fact  could  not  be 
more  strongly  stated  ;  and  yet  it  is  the  founder  and  leader  of 
this  school  who  is  himself  the  first  to  desert  its  colours.  In 
our  general  discussion  of  the  principles  of  Positivism  we  have 

1  "  Positive  Philosophy."     Auguste  Comte. 

1  "  Elements  de  Philosophic  Positive,"  p.  no,  Littr& 


332  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

seen  Auguste  Comte,  in  the  latest  development  of  his  system, 
subordinating  the  lower  to  the  higher  in  the  explanation  of 
things,  thus  giving  implicit  adherence  to  the  principle  of 
design,  and  allowing  moreover  an  important  part  to  the  in- 
tuitions of  the  heart  in  his  worship  of  humanity.  This  atheism 
is  simply  idolatry  \  Comte's  first  sociology  is  completely  belied 
by  this  change  of  front.  It  is  no  longer  possible  to  speak  of 
a  simple  verification  of  positive  facts,  when  once  it  is  acknow- 
ledged that  sentiment  can  anticipate  science  and  construct  a 
synthesis  which  is  not  simply  the  result  of  patiently  observed 
facts.  Sociology  cannot  be  reduced  to  mere  social  physics 
if  it  is  admitted  that  the  life  of  the  affections  ought  to  be 
the  governing  principle  of  the  reconstitution  of  society,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  adoration  of  that  great  Being  which,  comprising 
all  men  past  and  present,  entirely  eludes  the  grasp  of  scientific 
observation.1  Universal  love  becomes  the  keystone  of  the 
arch  of  social  science ;  and  the  purely  mechanical  is  eliminated. 
"  If  it  is  true,"  as  M.  Espinas  observes,  "  that  the  highest  pro- 
perties of  life — thought  and  love — have  as  their  condition  the 
lowest  properties,  it  may  nevertheless  be  affirmed  that  the 
mind  is  of  a  nature  diverse  from  its  instruments  and  is  not 
limited  by  the  conditions  out  of  which  it  arose.  The  soul, 
in  relation  to  its  bodily  organs,  is  not  then  a  mere  resultant, 
but  rather  an  end,  a  raison  d'etre^  and  the  only  adequate  one."2 
Such  a  theory  absolutely  forbids  our  confounding  human 
society  with  animal  society ;  the  former  has  its  purpose  in 
itself,  and  while  its  elements  and  rude  outlines  may  be  trace- 
able in  the  latter,  it  yet  possesses  a  character  of  its  own. 

The  objections  we  have  made  to  Comte's  system  apply  also 
to  the  English  positivists,  who  belong  most  distinctly  to  his 
school.  One  of  the  most  learned  and  powerful  English  ex- 
ponents of  his  earlier  teaching  is  Buckle,  in  his  "  History  of 
Civilisation  in  England."  He  also,  in  the  Introduction  to  that 

1  See  the  chapter  on  Positivism  in  the  first  section  of  this  work. 
8  "  Societe  Animale,"  Espinas,  Introduction  Historique. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.         333 

work,  seems  prepared  to  recognise  only  social  physics.  Start- 
ing from  the  familiar  results  of  statistics,  which  show  a  certain 
recurring  uniformity  in  the  history  of  crime,  he  lays  down  at 
the  outset  a  system  of  absolute  determinism,  without  even 
vouchsafing  the  least  discussion  to  the  principles  of  the  op- 
posite system.  In  his  view  the  ruling  principle  in  the  develop- 
ment of  human  societies  is  their  complete  dependence  on 
nature.  Their  whole  character  is  determined  by  the  greater  or 
less  abundance  and  accessibility  of  the  food  supply  •  and  this 
is  in  its  turn  determined  by  the  fertility  of  the  soil  and  by 
climatic  conditions.  Wherever  food  costs  little  labour,  manual 
labour  is  cheap,  and  the  distance  between  the  owners  of  the 
land  and  their  workpeople  is  so  much  the  greater.  Hence 
the  growth  of  aristocratic  and  despotic  societies  in  Asia  as  in 
ancient  central  Africa,  while  in  Europe  the  equality  of  social 
conditions  is  in  proportion  to  the  rate  of  wages,  which  is  higher 
on  account  of  the  value  of  labour  where  the  soil  is  less  pro- 
ductive. To  quote  his  own  words  :  "  If  we  investigate  on  a 
large  scale  the  social  and  economical  condition  of  nations, 
we  shall  see  that,  other  things  remaining  equal,  the  food  of  a 
people  determines  the  increase  of  their  numbers,  and  the 
increase  of  their  numbers  determines  the  rate  of  their  wages. 
We  shall  moreover  find,  that  when  the  wages  are  invariably 
low,  the  distribution  of  wealth  being  thus  very  unequal,  the 
distribution  of  political  power  and  social  influence  will  also  be 
very  unequal ;  in  other  words,  it  will  appear  that  the  normal 
and  average  relation  between  the  upper  and  lower  classes  will, 
in  its  origin,  depend  upon  those  peculiarities  of  nature  the 
operations  of  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  indicate.  After 
putting  all  these  things  together,  we  shall,  I  trust,  be  able  to 
discern,  with  a  clearness  hitherto  unknown,  the  intimate  con- 
nexion between  the  physical  and  moral  world."1 

Without  discussing  a    theory  so    exclusive,    which   ignores 

1  "  History  of  Civilisation  in  England,"  H.  T.  Buckle,  Introduction, 
p.  62. 


334  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

utterly  the  great  moral  factors  under  the  influence  of  which 
the  inhabitants  of  a  country,  whose  soil  and  climate  have  under- 
gone no  change,  make  radical  changes  in  their  social  consti- 
tution from  one  age  to  another,  it  is  obvious  that,  in  Buckle's 
theory,  sociology  is  always  identified  with  material  conditions. 
With  man,  no  less  than  with  the  animal,  it  is  all  a  question  of 
pasturage.  Yet  in  the  second  part  of  his  Introduction  the 
author  seems  to  rise  above  this  narrow  materialism,  and 
recognises  another  law  of  development  in  human  societies, 
namely,  the  influence  of  mind  upon  nature.  Looking  closely 
into  it,  however,  the  contradiction  is  only  apparent,  for,  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Buckle,  mind  only  escapes  the  power  of  nature 
when  nature  ceases  to  be  opulent  or  formidable,  as  in  the 
torrid  climates  of  the  tropics  or  the  East.  Wherever  it 
displays  its  terrors  or  its  grandeur,  mind  succumbs.  It  has 
no  alternative  between  the  intoxication  of  the  senses  and 
superstition,  the  mother  of  religion ;  religion  being  only  the 
echo  in  man's  soul  of  the  terrors  excited  by  the  convulsions 
of  nature.  Man  can  only  rise  above  this  craven  awe  where 
nature  has  tempered  the  manifestation  of  her  power,  as  in 
Europe.  He  is  always  dependent  upon  nature  in  the  last 
resort,  like  the  slave  whose  chain  may  be  lengthened  but  not 
broken.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Buckle  reduces  the 
civilising  power  of  the  human  mind  to  mere  scientific  develop- 
ment, and  repudiates  any  educative  influence  in  morals  or 
religion.  And  yet  history  constantly  shows  us  human  society 
organising  itself  in  accordance  with  its  moral  and  religious 
beliefs,  as  around  its  axis.  The  author  makes  intelligence, 
which  he  disjoins  entirely  from  the  will,  the  great  social  motor. 
Intelligence,  thus  regarded,  is  wholly  passive,  as  in  the  animal ; 
for  thought  without  volition  is  no  longer  reflective  thought, 
and  the  true  line  of  demarcation  between  man  and  the  animal 
is  obliterated. 

We   must  admit,  however,  that  Buckle,  who  is  no  stickler 
for  system,  gives  us  a  picture  of  the  scientific  development  of 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.         335 

the  human  mind,  which  is  inexplicable  apart  from  the  develop- 
ment of  spontaneity.  The  thirst  for  knowledge,  which  he 
describes,  and  the  concentrated  activity  which  the  mind  dis- 
plays in  order  to  satisfy  it,  imply  energy  of  will  in  the  highest 
degree.  It  would  be  easy,  without  going  beyond  the  limited 
field  within  which  the  author  confines  social  progress,  to 
demonstrate  the  intervention  of  the  moral  faculties,  without 
which  the  mind  remains  inert,  altogether  submerged  by  out- 
ward things,  and  unable  to  control  them  or  distinguish  itself 
from  them,  which  is  the  only  method  by  which  man  can  attain 
to  scientific  knowledge.  From  the  concessions  which  Buckle 
makes,  it  is  clear  that  human  society  has  a  character  peculiar 
to  itself.  Intelligence  could  not  reach  the  development  which 
he  grants,  unless  it  had  risen  above  merely  natural  life  and 
entered  a  higher  region  to  which  the  animal  never  attains. 

Positivism  has  not  succeeded  in  adhering  to  its  first  propo- 
sitions, identifying  sociology  with  social  physics.  The  pro- 
blem has  therefore  been  taken  up  by  that  great  school  of 
evolutionists,  of  which  Positivism  is  always  rather  shy,  because 
this  school  compels  it  to  abandon  its  premisses  and  to  enter 
upon  those  questions  of  origin  which  it  has  systematically 
ignored.  We  may  just  refer  in  passing  to  Bagehot's  ingenious 
book  on  the  scientific  laws  of  the  development  of  nations.1  The 
writer  assigns  the  first  place  to  the  principle  of  heredity,  which 
augments  and  renders  permanent  all  the  advantages  gained  in 
the  struggle  for  existence.  Victory  belongs  to  the  social  group 
which,  under  certain  general  or  special  influences,  has  suc- 
ceeded sooner  than  its  neighbours  in  arriving  at  self-discipline 
and  unification  under  powerful  control.  In  this  way  it  has 
acquired  at  once  a  true  military  superiority  and  elements  of 
organisation  adapted  to  the  manifestation  of  its  true  genius. 
After  thus  constituting  its  national  type,  it  has  become  capable 
of  passing  through  the  salutary  phases  of  political  liberty.  The 
Englishman  may  well  say  to  himself,  as  he  reads  Bagehot's 
book,  De  tefabida  narratur. 

1  "  Physics  and  Politics."     Bagehot. 


536  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

Herbert  Spencer  gives  us  the  boldest  formula  of  evolution 
in  its  application  to  sociology.  We  shall  have  to  inquire 
whether  it  is  comprehensive  enough  to  embrace  social  facts  as 
we  have  observed  and  described  them.  M.  Espinas'  learned 
and  ingenious  book,  "Sur  les  Societes  Animates,"  though 
belonging  to  the  same  school,  will  furnish  us  with  a  partial 
refutation  of  Herbert  Spencer,  thanks  to  the  copious  informa- 
tion collected  and  given  by  the  author,  with  perfect  frankness, 
and  with  some  important  reservations  which  we  note  as  con- 
firming our  view. 

Sociology,  in  Herbert  Spencer's  great  philosophical  syn- 
thesis, is  a  special  application  of  his  fundamental  principle 
of  the  conservation  of  energy  through  all  its  transformations, 
so  that  we  find  it  always  constant  in  amount  and  obeying 
the  same  laws  of  evolution.  Society,  like  everything  in  the 
universe,  emerges  from  the  primitive  homogeneous,  following 
the  law  already  explained,  which  impels  the  homogeneous 
to  become  the  heterogeneous  (which  afterwards  produces  the 
multiple)  and  the  indefinite  to  pass  into  the  definite ;  the 
progress  of  organised  life  being  always  commensurate  with 
the  growing  precision  of  its  organisation.  These  more  or  less 
marked  determinations  are  not  only  distinguished  from  one 
another,  they  also  concur  among  themselves,  and  from  their 
concurrence  results  a  total.  Each  particular  organism  is  the 
result  of  this  process  of  specialisation  and  unification.  This 
same  process  binds  together  the  various  individual  units  ;  and 
thus  societies  are  formed,  they  themselves  being  composed  of 
pre-existing  associations ;  for  everything,  down  to  the  very 
crystal,  is  an  association.  From  the  foot  to  the  top  of  the 
ladder,  the  same  mechanical  law  is  in  operation.  Human 
society  is  subject,  like  all  other  societies,  to  the  great  law  of 
rhythmic  motion ;  that  is  to  say,  after  the  period  of  evolution 
will  come  that  of  disaggregation  and  dissolution.  We  must 
not  then  speak  of  progress,  for  the  end  of  things  is  not  annihil- 
ation, since  energy  is  indestructible,  but  disaggregation.  This 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        337 

inevitable  conclusion  takes  away  much  of  the  interest  of  the 
history  of  sociological  developments,  since  nothing  can  avert 
the  fatal  issue. 

Without  repeating  the  refutation  we  have  already  given  of 
the  general  principle  of  this  fatalistic  evolution,  we  may  just 
remind  the  reader  once  more  that  it  does  not  explain  any  of 
the  real  progressive  changes  of  the  organism  ;  that  it  gives  no 
account  of  its  rise  from  merely  mechanical  existence  to  life 
properly  so  called,  which  is  not  simply  a  chemical  compound ; 
and  that  it  throws  no  light  on  the  transition  from  unconscious 
to  conscious  life,  especially  to  reflective  life  characterised  by 
spontaneity  and  free-will.  We  shall  dwell  more  at  length  on 
the  identification  by  the  author  of  the  principles  of  sociology 
with  social  and  simply  organic  life.  With  Herbert  Spencer  the 
"  body  politic  "  is  no  metaphor,  it  is  a  solid  reality.  The  life  of 
a  well-constituted  human  body  is  repeated  without  addition  or 
essential  modification  in  human  society.  First  of  all,  in  both 
cases  the  organism  has  reached  its  full  development  by  the  ever 
growing  differentiation  of  the  parts  composing  it.  These  in 
the  end  are  co-ordinated  and  all  concur  in  the  same  course  of 
action  by  means  of  a  progressive  division  of  labour  and  an  ever- 
increasing  facility  of  intercommunication.  Human  society, 
like  animal  societies,  progresses  in  proportion  as  it  is  sub- 
divided into  more  distinct  elements,  each  performing  its  own 
task,  combining  with  a  view  to  a  common  end,  and  increas- 
ing the  facilities  of  intercommunication.  The  same  organs 
which  enable  the  physical  life  to  perform  its  functions  are  at 
work  in  social  life.  The  organs  of  the  body  designed  to  pro- 
mote nutrition,  circulation,  and  relative  life,  are  the  stomach, 
the  heart,  the  blood-vessels,  and  the  brain,  in  which  the 
nervous  organism  centres.  We  find  these  in  a  modified  but 
still  quite  recognisable  form  in  the  social  body.  When  the 
social  organism  reaches  an  advanced  stage  it  develops  within 
itself  an  extensive  and  complicated  commercial  organisation  for 
the  distribution  of  merchandise.  It  sends  its  currents  through 


338  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

all  lands  by  channels  which,  in  the  ultimate  subdivision  of  their 
branches,  lead  to  the  shop  of  the  retailer.  This  commercial 
organisation  brings  within  our  reach  both  necessities  and  super- 
fluities, while  it  seeks  to  make  its  own  profit  out  of  the  trans- 
action. The  directing  centre,  which  facilitates  and  apportions 
the  combined  action  of  the  various  parts  and  enables  them  to 
adapt  this  action  to  varying  circumstances,  constitutes  the 
organic  life  of  the  body  politic.  The  government  is  a  veri- 
table brain,  to  which  converge  all  the  local  centres  designed 
to  communicate  information  and  to  give  the  initiative;  it  is 
this  which  secures  the  co-ordination  of  all  the  diversified  oper- 
ations of  the  various  parts.  Society,  then,  possesses  in  reality 
a  complete  nervous  system.  It  has  confided  to  trade  the 
charge  of  working  up  its  nutritive  material.  Thus  there  is  an 
absolute  agreement  between  physiology  and  sociology.  The 
condition  of  progress  in  both  is  due  to  the  law  of  selection, 
to  the  struggle  for  existence,  the  conditions  of  which  remain 
unalterable  in  passing  from  one  sphere  to  the  other;  for 
Herbert  Spencer,  consistent  to  the  end  with  the  principles  of 
his  system,  blames  the  useless  philanthropy  which  exaggerates 
the  protection  of  the  weak  and  the  ignorant,  and  so  impedes 
the  process  of  natural  selection. 

We  know  what  a  wealth  of  learning  and  of  keen  and  careful 
observation  the  author  of  the  "  Study  of  Sociology "  has 
brought  to  bear  in  his  books  on  the  constitution  of  society.1 
As  an  authentic  representative  of  his  race,  he  believes  in  the 
fullest  individual  autonomy.  He  thinks  that  the  best  way  of 
carrying  out  the  fruitful  principle  of  division  of  labour,  is  to 
reduce  to  a  minimum  the  operation  of  the  central  power. 
Herbert  Spencer  differs  widely  on  this  point  from  another 
writer  of  the  same  school,  who,  like  a  good  Prussian  Impe- 

1  See  "  Study  of  Sociology,"  Herbert  Spencer,  and  also  Schaeffle's 
work,  "  Bau  und  Leben  des  socialen  Korpers."  The  author  carries  to  its 
utmost  length  the  analogy  between  the  social  body  and  the  living  organism. 
Thus  he  describes  wealth  as  a  social  intercellular  substance. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.         339 

rialist,  places  science  at  the  service  of  the  policy  of  its  High 
Chancellor.  Jager  cannot  be  accused  of  a  want  of  courage 
in  his  opinions,  for  he  makes  sociology  merely  one  chapter  of 
his  manual  of  biology.  He  recognises  only  two  great  types  of 
society—  the  centralising  and  the  de-centralising  type.  He  says  : 
— "  At  the  lowest  stage  are  placed  the  '  States  by  aggregation,' 
States  formed  by  the  concurrence  in  one  bond  of  individuals 
unconnected  by  kindred.  This  sort  of  State  is  only  met  with 
among  men.  Such  are  America  and  Switzerland.  Above  these 
are  the  'States  by  generation,'  so  called  because  they  are 
formed  as  the  result  of  the  numerical  increase  of  the  family  by 
reproduction.  Such  are  the  States  of  ants  and  bees,  and,  among 
men,  national  States  composed  of  men  of  the  same  race,  as  in 
Germany."1  The  State  last  described  is  perfection,  for  it  alone 
sanctions  the  principle  of  subordination  by  establishing  a 
natural  hierarchy.  States  formed  upon  the  basis  of  individual 
liberty  are  destined  to  perish,  as  is,  for  instance,  the  French 
Republic. 

We  see  then  that  the  whole  of  physiological  sociology  rests 
upon  the  identification  of  the  social  organism  of  humanity 
with  the  physical  organism.  We  can  only  say,  metaphor  is 
not  argument.  There  are,  no  doubt,  certain  general  conditions 
found  in  all  organisms — they  are  all  subject  to  the  laws  of 
growth,  of  specialisation,  of  the  concurrence  of  the  parts  in 
forming  the  life  of  the  whole  ;  but  because  human  society, 
like  a  physical  organism,  must  needs  grow,  specialise  its 
functions,  bring  its  organs  into  correspondence,  establish  a 
real  co-ordination  among  them,  it  in  no  way  follows  that  it 
comports  itself  in  the  same  way  as  the  physical  organisation. 
If  it  is  anything  more  than  a  mere  body,  a  mere  aggregate  of 
cells,  if  it  reveals  new  qualities,  such  as  the  reflective  life,  con- 
sciousness, spontaneity,  this  fundamental  difference  must  be 

1  Fouillee,  in  his  "  Science  Sociale,"  gives  a  long  extract  from  Jager's 
book.  See  the  Appendices  to  M.  Espinas*  "  Societes  Animates,"  pp. 
358  sqq, 


340  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

traceable  in  the  play  and  functions  of  its  organs.  It  will  grow, 
it  will  specialise  its  functions,  and  will  co-ordinate  them  with 
a  view  to  the  whole,  like  all  other  organisms  \  but  it  will  do  so 
by  introducing  into  these  operations  that  which  is  characteristic 
of  itself,  I  mean  reflexion,  the  consciousness  of  its  acts,  free- 
will. To  say  that  it  conducts  commercial  transactions  as  it 
carries  on  digestion,  and  that  it  is  governed  by  a  mere 
nervous  organism,  is  not  only  to  efface  the  distinction  between 
the  higher  and  the  lower  life,  but  to  do  violence  to  our  every- 
day experience ;  for  it  is  idle  to  say  that  the  process  of  digestion 
and  automatic  movement  is  not  something  altogether  different 
from  the  pursuit  of  industry,  commerce,  or  government.  A 
human  association  is  incessantly  modifying  its  proceedings 
because  it  is  conscious  of  them  and  retains  control  over  them. 
It  is  this  which  must  always  distinguish  it  from  a  mere  or- 
ganism, even  apart  from  the  great  moral  principles  which 
underlie  it.  I  know  that  the  evolutionist  school  gets  out  of 
the  difficulty  by  merging  in  one  the  physical  and  psychical 
life  of  the  individual,  by  refusing  to  distinguish  between  the 
motion  of  the  cerebral  particles  and  the  consciousness  of 
that  motion.  Taking  this  identification  as  its  starting-point, 
it  is  easy  to  carry  the  same  confusion  into  social  facts ;  but 
the  consequences  are  of  no  more  value  than  the  premisses. 

These  last  remarks  apply  partially  to  animal  societies,  which 
cannot  be  brought  under  the  laws  of  the  inorga-nic  world,  re- 
mote as  we  hold  these  animal  societies  to  be  from  human 
society.  Is  there,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  so  great  a  difference 
between  the  two  societies  ?  This  is  the  question  we  must  now 
answer,  in  relation  to  the  opinions  of  Espinas  and  Perrier. 

III.  ANIMAL  COLONIES  AND  SOCIETIES. — PERRIER  AND 
ESPINAS. 

Although  Perrier  and  Espinas  agree  in  the  general  idea 
of  the  social  fact,  and  hold  that  society  begins  with  the 
first  aggregation  of  cells,  every  living  organism  being  a  true 


ANIMAL   COLONIES  AND  SOCIETIES.  341 

colony,  as  Milne-Edwards  says,  a  co-operative  society  if  we 
adopt  Haeckel's  figure ;  yet  they  draw  very  different  conclusions 
from  this  initial  principle.  Perrier  holds  that  every  animal 
is  a  collective  organism,  in  conformity  with  the  law  which 
predicates  that  the  living  substance  can  only  exist  in  the  state 
of  small  masses  distinct  from  each  other,  each  constituting 
an  individual.1  These  masses  grow  by  incorporating  various 
substances  so  long  as  they  remain  under  a  certain  fixed  volume ; 
when  they  have  reached  this  volume,  they  subdivide  into  two 
or  more  equal  parts,  which  form  fresh  individuals  like  each 
other  and  like  their  common  parent.  These  two  acts  represent, 
under  the  simplest  form,  nutrition  and  reproduction. 2  It 
results  from  this  law  that  animals  and  vegetables  can  only  be 
formed  by  an  accumulation  of  these  small  elementary  masses. 
The/  are  really  societies  composed  of  innumerable  individuals. 
They  form  organisms,  for  their  organisation  proceeds  from 
their  union.  The  diversities  of  these  organisms  are  owing  in 
the  first  instance  to  the  very  influence  of  social  life,  which 
mutually  modifies  those  who  are  thus  associated,  and  next 
to  the  application  of  the  great  laws  of  heredity  and  adapta- 
tion to  environment.  Perrier  traces  through  the  whole  of  the 
biological  scale  the  development  of  these  living  associations, 
which  become  more  and  more  complicated  from  the  moment 
when  the  colony  of  associates  ceases  to  be  attached  to  the 
soil  like  the  polypus,  and  passes  from  the  radiate  to  the 
vertebrate  form.  It  is  in  this  way  he  explains  the  variety 
and  progress  of  the  living  substance,  and  leads  us  through  all 
the  stages  of  evolution  from  the  colony  formed  by  simple 
juxtaposition,  to  the  unified  association  of  the  higher  animals. 
His  system  differs  from  transformist  monism  on  two  main 
points.  First,  he  admits  that  there  may  be  more  than  one 
kind  of  protoplasm,  in  which,  according  to  him,  parallel  de- 
velopments take  their  rise.  Second,  the  organ  or  apparatus  of 

1  "Colonies  Animates,"  Perrier,  p.  60. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  61. 


342  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 


the  organic  life  is,  in  his  view,  something  more  than  the  mere 
development  of  the  living  substance.  He  recognises  in  the 
protoplasm  hidden  springs  which  remind  us  of  Claude  Bernard's 
directing  ideas.  These  hidden  springs  were  necessary  to  the 
constitution  and  diversification  of  the  special  organisms.  Liv- 
ing associations,  while  they  remain  in  the  primitive  form  of  the 
animal  colony,-  that  is  to  say,  in  simple  juxtaposition, — arrive 
at  a  certain  unity  or  analogy  of  consciousness,  the  same  sensa- 
tion passing  from  one  associate  to  another  under  the  influence 
of  the  same  stimulation  in  the  same  environment.  This  is  not 
the  case  with  those  truly  unified  colonies  which  are  at  the  top  of 
the  biological  scale.  The  author  does  not  admit  that  conscious- 
ness of  the  ego  is  the  simple  resultant  of  the  separate  con- 
sciousnesses of  the  members  of  the  colony;  for  the  segments 
of  which  the  physiological  organism  are  composed  can  only 
yield  that  which  they  contain,  namely  diversity.  The  unity  of 
the  ego  is  owing  to  another  cause.  The  ego  is  a  psychologi- 
cal individual.  Espinas,  in  his  article  on  sociological  studies 
in  France,1  in  which  he  emphasises  his  disagreement  with 
Perrier,  says :  "  The  thinker,  when  he  finds  himself  face  to 
face  with  human  individuality,  with  the  psychological  ego, 
stops  and  considers.  If  he  once  admits  that  the  psychical 
individual  is  only  the  echo  of  the  organic  consensus^  and  that 
this  is  the  result  of  an  evolution  wrought  by  the  universal 
consensus,  he  must  implicitly  accept  all  the  consequences  that 
have  been  drawn  from  evolutionist  determinism  in  the  psycho- 
logical, moral,  and  religious  order.  He  must  then  allow  that 
consciousness  is  a  relative  thing,  and  that,  just  as  the  various 
centres  of  consciousness  form  only  one  single  consciousness 
when  the  various  organs  meet  in  the  same  organism,  psychical 
individuality  being  transferred  from  the  parts  to  the  whole, 
so,  when  various  human  individuals  associate  together  and 
organise  themselves,  their  partial  consciousnesses  are  fused 
into  one  total  consciousness  and  are  thenceforth  one.  What 
1  "  Revue  Philosophique,"  June,  1882. 


ANfMAL   COLONIES  AND  SOCIETIES.  343 

then  becomes  of  the  absolute,  transcendent  character  of 
man?"  Perrier  cannot  bring  himself  to  sacrifice  this  character, 
and  hence  he  cannot  allow  that  psychical  life  proceeds 
from  a  purely  physiological  fact.  While  he  admits  a  certain 
correspondence  between  the  development  of  the  animal 
colonies  and  that  of  human  societies ;  while  he  recognises  that 
the  specialisation  and  division  of  labour  and  the  increased 
solidarity  of  the  associated  existences  are  for  both  alike  con- 
ditions of  progress,  he  does  not  go  so  far  as  to  assimilate 
them.  His  view  of  the  unity  of  the  ego  as  a  purely  psy- 
chological fact  must  alone  forbid  his  acceptance  of  that 
collective  consciousness  of  humanity,  into  which  Espinas  ex- 
plains away  that  unity.  Perrier  concludes  his  book  by  a 
distinct  affirmation  of  the  possible  immortality  of  man.  He 
builds  up  his  conclusion  indeed  on  theories  of  the  infinite 
ether ;  but  as  he  himself  only  treats  them  as  hypotheses  we 
may  pass  them  by,  and  confine  ourselves  here  to  the 
fundamental  distinction  established  by  him  between  human 
society  and  the  animal  colonies. 

We  have  already  said  that  the  great  point  of  divergence 
between  Espinas  and  Perrier  is,  that  the  former  admits  col- 
lective consciousnesses  in  the  rudimentary  organisms  as  in 
human  societies.  If  it  is  objected  that  society  only  exists  by 
the  association  of  distinct  consciousnesses,  he  replies,  that  in 
every  cell  there  is  a  latent  consciousness,  and  that  all  these 
consciousnesses  find  their  unity  in  the  brain  or  in  the  unifying 
organ  which  takes  its  place  in  the  lower  orders  of  existence.1 
Each  organic  individual  comprises  then  a  plurality  of  sub- 
ordinate individuals,  since  every  organism  is  a  colony  of 
cells  and  these  cells  are  the  real  individuals.  While  indi- 
vidual diversity  is  found  thus  low  down  where  nothing  ap- 
pears but  a  vague  unity,  the  unity  of  consciousness  is  found 
high  up  in  the  scale  of  existence,  in  those  great  associations 
which  are  called  nations  and  which  are  nothing  else  than  vast 
1  "  Des  Societes  Animates,"  Espinas,  pp.  214,  224. 


3H  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

collective  individualities.  It  follows,  that  while  there  is 
multiplicity  and  society  in  the  formless  life  which  seems  to 
us  homogeneous  and  indivisible,  individuality  is  to  be  found 
in  that  which  seems  a  multiplex  association.1 

We  cannot  admit  either  hypothesis  To  exalt  the  aggre- 
gation of  cells  to  the  rank  of  a  real  society,  is  an  abuse  of 
language ;  for  you  would  seek  in  vain  for  any  trace  of  sensi- 
bility in  the  segment  of  the  worm  cut  into  pieces  or  in  the 
claw  of  an  animal  if  it  were  transplanted  to  the  paw  of  its 
congener ;  you  cannot  make  out  a  distinct  consciousness. 
The  individual  is  an  aggregate  of  cells,  and  not  an  association 
of  individuals,  for  individuality  only  begins  with  consciousness 
of  the  collective  life  of  these  aggregated  cells.  That  any 
one  of  them  separated  from  the  rest  retains  a  certain  sensi- 
bility and  therefore  a  certain  consciousness,  argues  nothing 
against  our  definition,  for  in  its  separation  it  has  itself  be- 
come a  whole.  Again,  individuality  only  exists  when  there 
is  in  the  .organism  the  consciousness  of  its  entire  life,  and 
there  is  society  only  when  there  is  an  association  of  individuals. 
An  organism,  then,  does  not  become  a  society  because  it  is 
composed  of  living  cells.  In  order  to  become  a  society  there 
must  be  several  distinct  organisms,  each  having  a  unified 
consciousness,  however  vague.  On  the  other  hand  we  cannot 
admit  that  a  society  of  individuals  proper  can  have  only  a 
single  consciousness,  as  though  it  were  a  particular  organism. 
The  ego  is  only  conscious  as  it  distinguishes  itself  from  the 
non-ego,  that  is  to  say  from  all  that  is  foreign  to  itself.  This  it 
can  do  only  by  means  of  its  unifying  faculty  working  through 
a  nervous  organism  peculiar  to  itself.2  To  assume  that  the 
distance  between  two  nervous  cells  placed  in  different  organ- 
isms no  more  interferes  with  the  unity  of  consciousness  than 
the  separation  of  the  cells  in  one  and  the  same  nervous  tissue, 

1  "La    conscience    sociale  est  une    conscience    individuelle." — "Des 
Societes  Animales,"  Espinas,  p.  546. 

2  "La  Science  Sociale,"  Fouillee,  p.  227. 


ANIMAL   COLONIES  AND  SOCIETIES.  345 

is  to  forget  that  in  the  case  of  a  single  organism  the  reper- 
cussion of  all  its  sensations  meets  in  the  same  central  point. 
To  talk  of  a  collective  ego  is  absurd.  M.  Fouille'e  observes 
very  justly  :  "  Different  subjects  may  perceive  the  same  object, 
may  be  moved  in  the  same  way,  and  agree  in  one  common 
volition,  but  they  do  not  cease  to  be  distinct,  separate  subjects. 
The  solidarity  of  the  family,  the  nation,  the  race,  may  be  very 
strong  and  broad,  and  may  constitute  a  veritable  unity,  but  it 
does  not  destroy  the  separate  individualities,  which  would  be 
the  case  if  they  were  all  blended  in  one  common  conscious- 
ness."1 This  unification  of  distinct  consciousnesses  is  alto- 
gether inadmissible  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  for  there 
ceases  to  be  any  real  responsibility  if  the  individual  conscious- 
ness is  absorbed  in  the  general.  If  it  does  not  absorb  it,  there 
is  no  longer  any  identity  between  society  and  the  animal 
organism.  If  the  individual  consciousness  subsists  apart  from 
the  general,  there  may  be  solidarity  but  nothing  more.  We 
shall  see  that  it  is  possible  to  allow  large  scope  to  this  great 
human  fact  without  destroying  the  permanent  distinctness  of 
such  individuality,  and  without  being  reduced  to  imagine  society 
to  be  a  sort  of  human  polypary. 

In  a  word,  society,  as  we  understand  it,  only  begins  with  the 
association  of  distinct  individualities;  and  if  it  tends  to  unite 
them  by  ever  tightening  bonds  of  solidarity  and  of  mutual 
aid,  it  can  never  absorb  them  into  one  single  consciousness 
under  pain  of  forfeiting  its  true  character.  In  Espinas'  system 
society  begins  and  ends  too  soon,  for  it  begins  even  before  the 
existence  of  an  isolated  individual,  and  it  ceases  to  be  at  the 
very  moment  when  it  is  about  to  be  really  constituted  by  the 
common  consent  of  its  members ;  for  since  men  lose  their  in- 
dividuality they  are  no  longer  distinct  beings,  and  therefore  in- 
capable of  association.  We  fully  admit  none  the  less  that  social 
progress  is  measured  by  the  increase  of  true  unity,  which,  while 
it  does  not  mean  absorption,  does  mean  the  ever  growing  and 
1  "  La  Science  Sociale,"  Fouillee,  p.  227. 


346  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

perfecting  harmony  of  all  the  parts  of  the  whole.  This  unity 
rises  in  dignity  in  proportion  as  it  becomes  moral,  conscious, 
an  act  of  the  will ;  and  this  it  can  only  become,  as  Espinas 
himself  allows,  in  human  society.  This  alone  suffices,  in  our 
opinion,  to  show  the  immeasurable  distance  on  which  we  have 
insisted. 

The  very  way  in  which  the  author  describes  the  evolution 
of  the  animal  societies  shows  that  while  they  may  be  capable 
of  greater  progress  than  was  supposed  by  the  old  Cartesian 
system,  they  yet  stop  short  of  the  sphere  of  really  moral  and 
conscious  life,  because  in  this  sphere,  as  in  all  others,  the 
animal  is  under  the  complete  control  of  sensation.  Espinas 
says  :  "  The  boundary  which  divides  spontaneous  unreflective 
action  from  action  which  is  in  some  way  methodical  and 
regulated  by  abstract  principles,  is  a  boundary  which  humanity 
has  at  some  time  crossed,  but  which  no  mere  animal  will  ever 
cross."1  The  author  of  "  Les  Societes  Animales  "  gives  us  a 
careful  description  of  their  evolution,  from  the  simple  society 
formed  for  purposes  of  nutrition,  to  that  which  constitutes  a 
sort  of  clan ;  but  he  is  the  first  to  acknowledge  that  this  evolu- 
tion does  not  imply  true  progress.  It  does  not  deserve  that 
name  in  the  sense  in  which  we  apply  the  word  to  humanity ; 
it  is  partial,  confined  not  only  to  the  limits  of  the  species  but 
to  the  limits  of  a  particular  variety  of  the  species  or  even  of 
the  race.  The  accumulation  of  the  effects  of  intelligence  in  the 
class  of  birds  is  like  the  gathering  of  rain  in  a  string  of  isolated 
pools.  The  water  fills  each  unequally  according  to  its  depth, 
but  it  does  not  form  one  continuous  current  capable  of  growing 
as  it  moves.2  The  author  seems  to  forget  sometimes  that  it  is 
by  the  light  of  these  principles  we  must  compare  the  evolution 
of  human  societies  with  that  of  the  animal  colonies,  for  while 
there  are  evident  analogies  between  them  we  must  never  forget 
the  fundamental  difference  which  appears  on  every  step  of  the 

1  "  Dos  Societes  Animales,"  Espinas,  p.  352. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  437. 


ANIMAL   COLONIES  AND  SOCIETIES.  347 

ladder  of  social  development,  and  which  gives  a  distinct  sig- 
nificance to  facts  apparently  similar.  In  the  animals,  sensa- 
tion is  always  dominant,  while  reflexion  and  will  take  the 
leading  part  in  the  development  of  humanity.  We  must  not 
forget,  however,  that  sensation  tends  to  the  mental  represen- 
tation of  the  object,  and  that  this  representation,  developed 
as  it  is  in  the  higher  animals,  forms  a  durable  bond,  although 
they  may  not  be  fully  aware  of  It,  and  may  not  rise  to  that 
conscious  and  voluntary  relation  which  is  the  very  essence  of 
human  society. 

Let  us  follow  Espinas  as  he  traces  these  different  stages 
of  evolution  in  animal  societies.  We  shall  find  the  same 
stages  reproduced  in  human  society,  but  at  the  same  time 
undergoing  a  radical  transformation  in  the  sense  we  have 
indicated.  Espinas  recognises  three  classes  of  animal  societies  : 
those  of  nutrition,  reproduction,  and  relation.  Each  higher 
order  reproduces  those  below  it.  It  is  evident  that  these 
societies  of  reproduction  are  also  those  of  nutrition,  and  that 
the  life  of  relation  supposes  alimentation  and  generation.  It 
is  only  in  the  lowest  grade  of  animal  existence  that  we  find 
one  single  element  of  association,  as  among  the  infusoria  and 
the  zoophytes;  and  even  here  it  must  be  admitted  that  from 
its  very  earliest  developments  the  alimentary  association  leads 
to  a  sort  of  attempt  at  generative  union.  Reproduction  stands 
indeed  in  close  relation  to  nutrition,  since  it  consists  essentially 
in  diffusing  and  communicating  the  cellular  substance  accu- 
mulated by  alimentation.  It  only  assumes  its  true  importance 
as  an  element  of  association  when  the  distinction  of  sex  has 
begun,  when  it  has  passed  the  inferior  gradations  of  fission  or 
of  budding;  and  when  the  various  organisms  composing  the 
domestic  society,  after  their  differentiation  as  matter,  become 
attached  to  each  other  again  by  bonds  of  the  affections  in 
which  we  discern  the  rudiments  of  reciprocal  feelings  and 
ideas.  The  sexual  instinct  plays  a  leading  part  in  the  forma- 
tion of  animal  societies.  It  is  all  the  more  powerful  because  it  is 


348  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

so  concentrated  and  knows  so  small  an  admixture  of  the  ideal. 
The  blood  of  the  animal  is  fired  with  an  inextinguishable 
flame ;  it  directs  all  its  energies  to  one  act,  and  sometimes 
puts  forth  an  extraordinary  amount  of  physical  force  to  secure 
the  desired  gratification.  It  is  this  strong  excitement  which 
produces  the  marvellous  rapture  of  song  in  some  birds,  and 
which  causes  the  animal  to  display  all  its  acquired  advan- 
tages.1 

To  us  this  manifestation  ot  animal  beauty  seems  rather  the 
effect  of  sense-stimulation  than  any  properly  aesthetic  display ; 
for  the  beautiful  in  this  case  does  not  correspond  to  any  general 
notion,  it  is  only  the  effervescence  of  sense-excitement,  it  is 
altogether  objective  and  external.  Having  its  source  in  the 
desire  which  is  the  effect  of  this  purely  physical  excitement,  it 
appeals  to  desire,  and  is  entirely  wanting  in  that  disinterested- 
ness without  which  there  is  no  such  thing  as  aesthetic  feeling, 
as  we  shall  presently  show.2  The  sense  of  smell  has  a  stronger 
influence  in  preparing  the  union  of  the  sexes  in  animals  than 
all  the  enchantments  of  song  or  splendours  of  colour.  In  some 
of  the  higher  animals  the  sexual  instinct  seems  softened  by  a 
sort  of  evanescent  tenderness.  Monogamy  among  animals  is 
not  due  to  any  real  progress  in  the  development  of  the  affec- 
tions, but  simply  to  the  conditions  of  existence  among  those 
that  practise  it.  Thus  the  larger  birds  of  prey  and  the  great 
carnivora,  requiring  the  undisputed  possession  of  vast  hunting 
grounds,  are  led  to  live  in  isolated  couples.  Animal  society 
formed  under  the  influence  of  reproduction  sometimes  reaches 
a  rare  perfection,  as  is  shown  in  the  case  of  ants  and  bees. 
This  perfection,  which  is  due  chiefly  to  instinct,  infallible  from 
the  very  first,  is  developed  also  by  the  stimulation  of  the  senses, 
which  is  apparent  at  certain  times ;  as,  for  instance,  when  the 
sentinels  of  a  hive,  becoming  extraordinarily  agitated,  communi- 

1  "Societe's  Animates,"  Espinas,  pp.  323-333. 

2  See  M.  Leveque's  interesting  article  on  sexual  selection,  "  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes,"  Sept.  I,  1873. 


ANTMAL   COLONIES  AND  SOCIETIES.  349 

cate  their  agitation  from  one  to  another.1  Maternal  love,  with 
its  prodigies  of  devotion,  proceeds  also  from  an  admirable  in- 
stinct combined  with  certain  sensations,  such  as  those  which 
lead  the  bird  to  sit  on  her  eggs.  In  fact,  a  sort  of  fever  is  pro- 
duced in  the  sitting  bird,  especially  in  the  blood-vessels  on  the 
under  part  of  the  body,  hence  the  necessity  of  keeping  herself 
still  and  of  seeking  the  cooling  contact  of  the  eggs.2  An  initial 
organic  motion  is  most  frequently  the  determining  cause  of 
the  mental  process  designed  to  carry  it  out.  The  sort  of 
psychological  development  which  clearly  does  exist  in  animal 
society  is  always  subordinate  to  physiology.  It  is  certain  that 
the  difference  between  the  care  that  the  fish  takes  of  its  pro- 
geny and  the  almost  tender  solicitude  of  the  bird,  is  essentially 
due  to  the  difference  between  the  number  of  the  eggs  produced. 
The  brood  of  the  bird  is  always  limited,  while  the  spawn  of 
the  fish  is  multitudinous.  The  same  law  applies  to  the  highest 
grade  of  animal  societies,  when  the  life  of  relation  has  begun, 
and  we  have  a  sort  of  rude  outline  of  the  tribe.  The 
prolonged  love  of  some  males  for  their  progeny  makes  the 
duration  of  the  family  tie  in  the  rearing  of  the  young  a  variable 
time.  Physiology  explains  this  advance.  A  certain  natural 
moderation  of  the  sexual  passion,  and  a  greater  facility  in  sub- 
duing it,  is  necessary  in  order  to  keep  the  male  near  the  female, 
for  it  is  proved  that  under  other  physical  conditions  the  males 
are  inconstant  and  polygamous.  The  love  of  father  and  mother 
for  their  young  in  animal  societies  lasts  only  for  one  season, 
the  beginning  and  end  of  which  is  marked  by  their  physical 
condition.  That  which  is  most  elevated  in  the  life  of  relation 
is  the  association  of  congeneric  individuals  to  form  a  sort  of 
animal  tribe.  The  sympathy  which  unites  them  is  due  in  great 
measure,  Espinas  tells  us,  to  the  pleasure  they  experience  in 
finding  themselves  among  creatures  like  themselves  (which  is 
for  them  the  easiest  and  consequently  the  pleasantest  mode  of 

1  "  Societes  Animates,"  Espinas,  p.  403. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  418. 


350  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

representation) ;  but  this  sort  of  association  can  only  be  pos- 
sible for  herbivorous  animals  which  find  their  food  easily.1  As 
early  as  Aristotle  it  was  remarked  that  beasts  of  prey  lived 
solitary.  Here  then  again  the  physiological  conditions  deter- 
mine the  physical  state.  Many  of  these  animal  tribes  only  last 
through  the  intervals  between  the  reproductive  seasons.  As 
the  sexual  instinct  reawakens  they  are  broken  up.2  Thus  it 
has  been  observed  that  the  development  of  the  tribe  is  in  in- 
verse proportion  to  that  of  the  family ;  the  family  instinct  in 
animals  tends  to  isolate  them.  The  most  surprising  social  fact 
in  the  animal  kingdom,  is  the  existence,  especially  among  mam- 
malia, of  recognised  leaders,  which  are  generally  old  males, 
the  strongest  and  most  experienced.  Their  supremacy  is  due 
only  to  their  strength.  Those  who  have  been  successful  in  the 
struggles  provoked  by  the  sexual  instinct,  have  a  recognised 
authority.  The  desire  of  the  males  to  keep  the  females  under 
their  dominion  is  the  origin  of  this  sort  of  royalty,  which  is 
advantageous  to  its  subjects,  since  it  secures  them  protection 
and  safety.  There  is  no  concert  between  the  leaders  of  troops 
of  wild  horses  in  the  great  prairies  of  South  America,  nothing 
resembling  the  system  of  contract  on  which  human  society 
rests,  because  human  society  alone  is  governed  by  free-will  and 
reflexion ;  that  is  to  say,  by  conscious  life. 

We  shall  find  all  the  elements  of  animal  society  reproduced 
in  that  of  man,  but  transformed  and  permeated  with  fresh 
meaning,  that  is  to  say,  wherever  man  fulfils  his  true  destiny, 
for  as  a  free  agent  it  is  possible  for  him  to  come  short  of  it. 
He  is  capable  of  degrading  as  well  as  of  raising  himself.  It 
is  open  to  him  to  sink  to  a  sheer  animal  life,  to  obey  no  law 
but  that  of  sensual  instinct,  and  to  subordinate  the  noble  life 
of  relation  to  the  appetites  of  nutrition  and  reproduction,  or 
worse  still,  to  degrade  and  violate  these.  Even  then  he  is  not 
like  the  animal;  he  becomes  worse  than  the  brutes,  because 

1  "  Societes  Animates,"  Espiuas,  p.  576. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  482. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.         351 

his  higher  intelligence  can  devise  means  for  the  unmeasured 
and  lawless  indulgence  of  sensual  gratifications.  His  peril  is, 
that  he  may  fling  himself  voluntarily  into  the  deepest  mire  of 
uncontrolled  and  perverted  instincts.  His  glory  is,  that  while 
thus  capable  of  falling,  he  can  also  resist  all  these  impulses  of 
his  lower  nature,  and  realise  the  true  ideal  of  human  society. 
When  he  does  so,  he  transfigures  the  lower  principles  of  asso- 
ciation, such  as  those  of  nutrition  and  reproduction,  setting  on 
them  the  seal  of  reason  and  of  conscience.  But  this  can  only 
be  when  he  has  submitted  himself  to  the  higher  principles  of 
the  social  life,  and  has  recognised  that  the  social  relations  are 
not  merely  matters  of  instinct  but  of  covenant,  based  upon 
the  consent  of  all  the  members  of  society,  for  the  protection 
of  their  liberties.  Such  a  society  rests  upon  right,  and  sets 
before  it,  as  an  end,  the  solidarity  or  fraternity  of  mankind, 
which  is,  par  excellence^  the  moral  intention  of  society.  Thus, 
instead  of  a  tribe  we  get  an  organised  nation,  a  State  bound 
to  defend  the  right  against  all  individual  violence,  the  grand 
institution  of  liberty  and  justice  favouring  the  development 
of  every  individual,  deriving  its  strength  from  the  consent  of 
its  citizens,  creating  a  veritable  national  unity  which  has  no 
analogy  with  a  collective  consciousness  substituted  for  personal 
consciousness,  since  on  the  moral  individual  devolves  the  task 
of  fulfilling  to  his  utmost  the  law  of  good. 

Let  us  rapidly  observe  this  phase  of  the  great  moral  evolu- 
tion which  we  have  just  broadly  characterised. 

When  once  the  lower  is  made  subordinate  to  the  higher, 
it  is  interesting  to  see  how  the  lower  gets  lifted  up  and  how 
capable  it  is  of  being  adapted  to  the  noblest  ends  of  the 
intellectual  and  moral  life  of  humanity.  If  there  is  one  social 
principle  which  seems  destined  never  to  rise  above  the 
material — it  is  the  life  of  nutrition ;  and  yet  human  society, 
wherever  it  fulfils  its  destiny,  imparts  even  to  this  something 
of  its  higher  life.  The  process  of  feeding  plays  unquestion- 
ably a  large  part  in  human  life ;  it  involves  indeed  the  crucial 


352  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

question,  "  to  be  or  not  to  be  " ;  it  must  be  answered  under 
pain  of  death.  When  it  is  answered  in  a  mistaken  or  inade- 
quate way,  the  results  of  the  error  are  tragical.  Under  the 
stimulus  of  this  universal  and  irresistible  need,  human  intelli- 
gence has  come  into  play.  It  has  not  been  content  with 
seeking  hunting  grounds,  and  feeding  on  the  forest  acorns. 
It  has  observed,  tried  experiments;  and,  with  that  faculty  of 
remembering  and  foreseeing  which  is  characteristic  of  intelli- 
gence, it  has  constructed  engines  for  cultivating  and  fertilising 
the  earth.  The  first  tool  fashioned  by  man  asserted  his  royalty 
over  nature,  for  he  did  not  get  it  from  nature ;  nature  could  only 
supply  him  with  shapeless  material.  In  order  to  mould  it  into 
shape,  and  to  adapt  it  to  his  permanent  use,  he  must  rise  above 
mere  passing  sensation,  and  work  with  an  eye  to  the  future; 
he  must,  in  a  word,  perform  an  act  of  reason.  Thus  the  tool 
is  man's  true  sceptre ;  whether  it  is  made  of  flint  or  wood  or 
anything  else,  it  is  the  result  of  thought.  This  is  why  the 
animal,  guided  by  instinct,  cau  effect  marvels  of  construction 
by  the  use  of  its  own  limbs,  but  never  makes  a  tool.  The 
isolated  cases  adduced  are  of  no  importance ;  a  monkey  may 
have  one  day  by  chance  leaned  upon  a  stick,  but  he  did  not 
cut  or  shape  the  stick,  nor  hand  it  down  to  his  posterity  that 
they  might  improve  upon  "it  Man,  on  the  contrary,  in  fashion- 
ing the  rudest  tool,  shows  his  aptitude  to  mould  matter  so  as 
to  make  use  of  it.  This  aptitude  goes  on  developing  from 
generation  to  generation,  as  each  profits  by  the  experience 
acquired  by  its  forefathers.  Manufactures  began  as  soon  as 
the  first  arrow  and  the  first  hammer  were  hewn  out  of  the 
rough  stone.  The  weapons  of  the  chase  were  soon  followed 
by  the  ploughshare  tearing  its  furrows  in  the  soil  and  pre- 
paring it  for  the  labour  of  the  husbandman  ;  then  came  the 
domestication  of  animals  capable  of  contributing  to  man's 
sustenance ;  and  last  of  all,  his  genius  produced  those  skilled 
appliances  of  labour  which  seem  by  their  fruitful  action  to 
transform  the  whole  surface  of  our  globe.  Commerce,  establish- 


HUMAN"  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.         353 

ing  communication  and  exchange  among  all  parts  of  the  globe, 
is  an  equally  marvellous  result  of  the  application  of  intellect 
to  the  necessities  of  nutrition.  The  mind  of  man,  with  its 
grand  faculties  of  generalisation,  has  deduced  economical  and 
agricultural  laws  from  observed  facts.  Political  economy  is  par 
excellence  the  science  of  alimentation,  and  we  know  with  what 
success  it  has  discovered  and  determined  the  conditions  of 
progress.  All  the  important  questions  connected  with  pro- 
perty, regarded  as  the  guarantee  of  individual  liberty,  belong 
to  the  same  order ;  their  solution  has  called  into  operation  the 
highest  principles  of  law.  Lastly,  it  is  not  only  freedom  of 
action  and  justice  which  have  been  manifested  in  this  sphere 
which  at  first  sight  seemed  limited  to  the  lower  interests  of 
man's  nature.  The  brotherliness  of  mankind  has  here  found 
scope  for  its  most  practical  exhibition,  in  succouring  those 
who  have  been  vanquished  in  the  stern  struggle  for  bread,  or 
in  endeavouring  to  equalise  the  conditions  of  life  for  the  future. 
However  chimerical  the  Socialist  movement  in  our  day  may 
have  been,  it  is  nevertheless  a  proof  of  these  generous  instincts 
of  human  society,  which,  by  a  strange  inconsistency,  the  ma- 
terialism so  many  Socialists  profess,  tends  wholly  to  ignore. 
Christian  charity  ever  at  work  to  relieve  the  fearful  suffering 
which  accompanies  the  struggle  for  subsistence,  ennobles  this 
seemingly  low  sphere  of  the  life  of  nutrition,  by  bringing  to 
bear  on  it  the  holiest  of  moral  forces — love  at  once  just  and 
pitiful.  Finally,  the  petition,  "Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread,"  occupying  as  it  does  an  honourable  place  in  the  great 
prayer  of  humanity,  binds  "  with  gold  chains  around  the  throne 
of  God  "  this  sphere  of  man's  commonest  physical  need. 

We  have  seen  how  large  a  part  the  instinct  of  reproduction 
plays  in  the  development  of  animal  societies.  While  they 
have  no  power  to  rise  above  the  restless  sensations  which  it 
awakens,  it  sometimes  draws  out  something  like  tenderness  and 
devotion,  but  is  never  capable  of  producing  an  affection  which 
should  outlive  sensation  and  be  capable  of  controlling  and 

A  A 


354  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

purifying  it.  It  is  only  in  man  that  this  purification  takes 
place,  and  that  the  feeling  of  love,  blended  in  its  first  manifes- 
tations with  instinct,  more  and  more  rises  above  it  and  assumes 
a  character  of  nobleness  and  sympathy  which  makes  the  union 
of  soul  predominate,  though  it  does  not  cancel  the  attraction 
of  beauty  and  its  supreme  charm.  Modesty  in  the  sexual 
relations,  of  which  the  animal  knows  nothing,  makes  us  reticent 
of  the  outward  signs  of  love.  Human  love  begins  with  the 
enchantment  of  the  eyes,  but  it  is  only  truly  worthy  of  itself 
when  it  has  realised  its  ideal,  the  true  harmony  of  souls.  It 
is  absolutely  free  in  its  manifestations.  Hence  it  can  be  false 
to  itself  and  draggle  itself  in  the  mire  of  sensual  indulgence, 
where  it  is  identified  with  the  animal  instinct ;  but  when  it  fulfils 
its  true  mission,  when  it  is  manifested  as  the  very  flower  of  a 
nature  in  which  the  moral  was  meant  to  predominate,  it  tends 
to  blend  in  one,  not  simply  two  organisms,  but  two  individuals, 
who  know  how  to  combine  respect  with  tenderness.  True 
love  is  chaste  even  in  its  most  poetic  raptures.  Thus  re- 
garded, love  is  something  far  above  passion,  which  is  a  passive 
surrender  to  its  enchantments.  Love  does  not  abandon  itself 
to  the  mere  play  of  the  sensations  ;  it  gives  itself  freely  and  for 
ever,  to  be  the  sharer,  not  only  of  joy,  but  of  sorrow ;  hence 
it  is  not  consumed  by  its  own  flame.  Since  it  was  not  born  to 
mere  sensation,  it  lives  on,  when  the  senses  are  dulled  ;  and 
long  after  the  smile  of  beauty  has  faded  from  the  face  that  was 
so  charming  in  its  youth,  the  love  remains,  deeper,  truer, 
stronger  than  ever.  It  has  indeed  a  deathless  life,  or  it  is  no 
true  love.  This  ideal,  often  realised,  is  the  only  true  one.  It 
is  this  which  strikes  the  sweetest  harmonies  from  the  lyre  within; 
and  under  every  sky  the  soul  of  man  responds  to  its  music 
with  a  rapture  such  as  no  inferior  creature  ever  kne\v.  How 
far  this  ideal  of  true  human  love  lifts  us  above  merely  animal 
society  based  on  the  need  for  reproduction,  and  how  true  if 
it  is  that  the  instinctive  life,  as  it  becomes  human,  crosses  a 
gulf  which  no  evolutionism  can  bridge  over  1 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL   SOCIETIES.         355 

Human  society  does  not  leave  to  itself  this  love  capable  of 
such  wonder-working;  it  makes  it  a  sacred  engagement  in  the 
eye  of  the  law.  By  means  of  contract,  of  free  consent,  sexual 
union  becomes  marriage,  and  the  family  is  founded  with  its 
duties  and  its  claims.  We  have  no  longer  a  fortuitous  associ- 
ation terminable  at  will,  and  based  solely  upon  the  sexual 
relation,  we  have  an  institution  established  by  law,  which 
raises  us  from  the  state  of  nature  to  that  of  free  and  conscious 
life.  It  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  protect  for  a  few  days  his 
feeble  little  ones,  and  then  to  forsake  them  when  instinct  is 
silent.  He  has  to  develop,  not  only  a  body,  but  a  soul ;  to 
transmit  to  his  child,  in  other  ways  than  simply  by  the  blood  in 
its  veins,  the  inheritance  of  acquired  advantages ;  he  has  to 
mould  its  mind,  to  educate  it  in  an  atmosphere  of  tenderness 
and  light,  fitting  it  for  the  struggle  of  life  and  fighting  with  it 
its  first  battles.  Hence  the  love  and  respect  awakened  in  the 
child's  heart  by  the  names  of  father  and  of  mother.  Instinct 
has  been  transfigured,  illuminated  by  the  conscious  life,  by 
enlightened  and  voluntary  affection.  What  type  of  humanity 
like  that  of  the  tender  mother,  the  strong  yet  pitying  and 
pardoning  father !  How  infinitely  removed  from  the  animal, 
fostering  for  a  few  days  its  feeble  progeny ! 

Families  form  nations  and  place  themselves  under  the  aegis 
of  the  State,  which  is  the  higher  form  of  organised  human 
society.  Yet  even  the  nation  is  not  its  final  term ;  it  forms 
part  of  a  vaster,  broader  community — mankind  itself 

While  the  individual  always  retains  his  proper  value  and  can 
never  be  regarded  as  the  transitory  form  of  one  great  substance, 
as  a  mere  wave  lifted  up  for  a  moment  on  the  ocean  of  human- 
ity ;  yet  humanity  is  not  a  mere  abstraction,  it  is  an  un  KICS- 
tionable  reality.  The  human  individual  is  united  to  other 
individuals  of  his  species  by  his  very  nature  ;  they  are  his 
fellows  physiologically  and  morally.  Therefore  transmission  of 
the  physical  and  psychical  life  from  hi  n  to  them  is  possible. 
There  is  not  one  of  the  human  races  which  cannot  cross  with 


356  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

another  and  make  the  cross  fruitful ;  there  is  not  one  mind  or 
heart  of  man  which  cannot  communicate  with  some  other  mind 
and  heart.  What  generation  is  to  the  simply  organic  life, 
language  is  to  the  life  of  the  soul.  It  is  the  organ  by  which 
thought  and  feeling  are  transmitted.  Now  the  very  fact  that 
such  transmission  is  possible  implies  a  pre-established  harmony 
between  him  who  speaks  and  him  who  listens.  Their  intellec- 
tual and  moral  constitution,  then,  is  identical  in  its  essence, 
for  language  would  be  only  sound  if  it  did  not  communicate 
comprehensible  ideas  and  sentiments,  that  is  to  say,  those 
which  are  already  at  least  germinally  present  in  the  mind. 
Human  souls  are  made  to  vibrate  in  unison ;  this  is  the  strong- 
est proof  of  their  indestructible  kinship.  The  power  of  sym- 
pathy leads  to  the  same  conclusion.  How  can  we  explain  the 
influence  of  men  over  one  another,  the  current  of  feeling 
which  flows  from  one  to  the  other  and  seems  to  carry  away 
a  whole  assembly  with  one  irresistible  impulse,  or  which  asserts 
itself  as  strongly  in  the  intimate  relations  of  private  life? 
The  love  which  draws  human  beings  to  each  other,  reveals 
even  more  clearly  the  affinity  between  them.  Hatred,  which 
is  only  the  counterpart  of  love,  does  not  destroy  this  affinity ; 
on  the  contrary,  the  hatred  is  all  the  more  intense  the  more 
nearly  related  the  subject  of  it  is  to  its  object.  It  is  just  this 
indestructible  kinship  among  all  the  sons  of  humanity  which 
explains  the  great  and  powerful  fact  of  human  solidarity,  in 
which  we  are  all  included  and  which  brings  us  under  the  most 
various  influences  in  the  sphere  of  the  family,  the  nation,  or 
the  race,  so  that  we  can  often  hardly  distinguish  in  ourselves 
that  which  is  our  own,  and  that  which  we  derive  by  heredity, 
or  from  the  influence  of  environment  or  of  history.  It  is  true 
that  this  solidarity  is  reciprocal  \  we  are  not  simply  passive  in 
it,  we  are  active,  and  bring  onr  share  of  influence  to  bear  on 
the  common  stock ;  but  this  solidarity  in  itself  suffices  to 
establish  the  moral  and  intellectual  unity  of  the  race.  M. 
Marion  says  :  "  Every  human  society,  although  it  may  be  com- 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        357 

posed  of  individuals,  every  one  of  whom  is  a  peison  and  has 
his  own  separate  destiny,  forms  a  living  whole,  the  component 
parts  of  which  are  inseparable  (solidaires)  alike  in  their  own 
time  and  in  the  course  of  history.  In  the  same  way  humanity 
itself,  composed  as  it  is  of  distinct  groups,  each  having  its  own 
proper  life,  is  in  its  turn  a  living  unity."  * 

This  unity  is  equally  obvious  from  our  primary  moral  obli- 
gations, which  imply  two  things :  first,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciple formulated  by  Kant,  absolute  respect  for  every  individual 
of  our  fellows,  and  next  the  duty  of  brotherhood,  which  makes 
subordination  to  the  general  good  to  be  the  end  and  aim  of 
the  life  of  the  individual.  For  in  truth,  the  individual  cannot 
conceive  himself  apart  from  his  species:  to  it  he  owes  his 
being,  for  generation  is  essentially  a  function  of  the  species 
which  is  perpetuated  by  this  means.  To  it  he  owes  his  phy- 
sical development,  for  the  species  not  only  transmits  to  him  his 
organism,  but  also  provides,  in  the  care  of  father  and  mother, 
for  the  cherishing  of  the  feeble  spark  of  existence  and  its  pro- 
tection from  all  that  threatens  it  in  its  defenceless  state.  To 
it  he  owes  his  mental  development,  for  the  species  transmits  to 
him  language,  which  is  not  only  a  means  of  intellectual  com- 
munication, but  also  the  great  instrument  for  giving  precision 
to  thought,  always  vague  till  it  has  found  expression.  It  is  the 
species  which,  from  the  very  dawn  of  life,  transmits  to  him  the 
accumulated  treasure  of  progress  already  achieved,  so  that  he 
has  not  to  begin  history  over  again.  It  is  the  species,  in  fine, 
which  furnishes  him  with  the  great  sphere  of  his  moral  energies, 
by  calling  out  his  faculties  in  the  discharge  of  his  high  obliga- 
tions.2 M.  Charles  Secre'tan,  in  his  "  Philosophic  de  la  Liberte," 
well  says  :  "  If  man  cannot  perpetuate  himself,  or  even  continue 
to  exist,  in  a  state  of  isolation,  it  is  because  man  is  not  complete 
in  himself;  and  if  in  the  individual  there  is  always  something 
responsive  to  his  fellows,  if  he  rejoices  in  their  joys,  suffers  in 

1  "  De  la  Solidarite  Morale  :  Essai  de  Psychologic  Applique'e."    Marion 

2  Ibid. 


358  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

their  sorrows,  thinks  their  thoughts,  it  is  that  he  is  not  consti- 
tuted as  a  being  apart  from  others,  a  separate  monad.  The 
individual  is  always  more  and  less  than  he  seems.  At  once  the 
whole  and  a  part,  he  only  attains  the  full  consciousness  of  what 
he  is,  when  he  is  fulfilling  his  own  proper  function  in  the  great 
whole.  Society  is  for  him  as  he  for  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
he  were  not  a  complete  being,  endowed  with  intelligence  and 
free-will,  he  could  not  receive  that  which  the  species  has  to 
communicate  to  him,  for  in  order  to  acquire  it  there  must  be 
a  corresponding  receptivity."  l 

It  must  be  added,  that  the  species  would  be  nothing  without 
the  individual,  for  it  can  only  realise  its  highest  ends  through 
the  individual.  Neither  consciousness  nor  free-will  is  con- 
ceivable apart  from  individuality.  The  ego  only  exists  in  the 
moral  personality;  and  this  cannot,  as  we  have  already  shown, 
be  merged  in  a  collective,  indeterminate  consciousness  de- 
prived of  all  unity.  That  which  we  call  the  conciousness  of  a 
people,  the  consciousness  of  humanity,  is  a  very  real  thing,  but 
it  is  composed  of  individual  consciousnesses.  In  order  that 
humanity  may  be  able  to  say  wet  each  one  of  its  sons  must 
have  said  /.  A  we  not  resolvable  into  distinct  individualities 
would  be  a  mere  abstraction.  This  is  especially  true  when  we 
are  speaking  of  moral  unity;  its  freedom  is  its  strength.  All 
that  is  taken  away  from  the  particular  units  is  taken  away  from 
the  whole.  Take  away  individuality,  reduce  it  to  a  mere 
semblance,  and  you  have  at  once  destroyed  morality.  The 
individual,  then,  has  an  absolute  value ;  he  is  not  meant  to  be 
lost  in  the  species,  but  as  his  own  life  becomes  more  full 
and  definite  it  increases  the  general  prosperity  of  the  race ;  for 
in  this  sphere  of  the  higher  life,  progress  is  measured  by  the 
fuller  determination  of  the  individual  life,  which  is  always  to 
the  interest  of  the  whole.  It  follows  that  there  is  no  antinomy 
between  the  idea  of  species  and  that  of  individuality. 

Adhering  to  the  facts  which  natural  science  can  verify,  we 
1  "  Philosophic  de  la  Liberte,"  Charles  Secretan,  vol.  ii.,  p.  204. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        359 

are  strongly  inclined  to  admit  the  physiological  unity  of  the 
human  race,  having  already  shown  its  intellectual  and  moral 
unity.  The  elements  of  truth  which  we  have  recognised  in 
Darwinism  tend  to  support  this  opinion,  which  is  defended 
with  much  argumentative  force  by  such  men  as  Quatrefages. 
The  variations  resulting  from  natural  selection,  from  the  influence 
of  environment,  and  from  the  effects  of  heredity,  amply  explain 
the  diversity  of  races,  without  the  necessity  of  having  recourse 
to  a  plurality  of  species,  against  which  we  have  the  evidence 
of  the  recognised  fecundity  of  all  the  human  cross-breeds.  We 
can  only  refer  our  readers  to  Quatrefages'  lucid  demonstration, 
which  explains  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner,  not  only  the 
diversities  of  races  proceeding  from  one  common  stock,  under 
the  combined  influence  of  migrations  and  cross-breeding,  but 
also  shows  the  same  causes  producing  the  same  effects  on  a 
small  scale  in  our  own  day.1 

In  any  case,  the  moral  unity  of  mankind  remains  beyond 
question.  We  do  not  say  that  this  unity  has  been  felt  and 
recognised  in  all  ages.  The  consciousness  of  it  has  gradually 
grown  clearer  as  it  has  been  raised  from  the  purely  natural  into 
the  higher  sphere  of  the  moral  life,  till  in  the  end  man  has 
learnt,  not  only  to  acquiesce  in  but  to  desire  it.  The  highest 
form  of  society  was  to  receive  this  seal  of  the  free  and  con- 
scious* life  which  separates  it  from  animal  societies.  Hence 
it  has  needed  long  ages  for  the  great  idea  of  humanity  to 
overcome  the  exclusivism  of  the  clan,  the  tribe,  the  nation. 
The  ancient  world  was  built  upon  principles  the  very  reverse 
of  this;  each  nation  applied  to  other  nations  the  insulting 
name  of  barbarians.  The  alien  was  as  much  outside  the  pro- 
tection of  law  as  the  vanquished  foe ;  the  rights  of  man,  as 
man,  had  no  recognised  existence.  Philosophical  thought, 
indeed,  anticipated  free  institutions.  Cicero,  as  a  true  prophet 
of  the  ideal,  spoke  of  the  republic  of  mankind ;  but  it  was  not 
till  the  Son  of  God  had  appeared  in  history,  that  the  grand 
1  "  De  1'Espece  Humaine."  Quatrefages. 


360  THE  PROBLEM  OF  BEING. 

word  of  emancipation  was  spoken  :  "  In  Christ  there  is  neither 
Jew  nor  Greek,  barbarian,  Scythian,  bond,  nor  free."  On  that 
day  the  great  human  society  broke  all  the  fetters  of  tribe  and 
nation.  But  many  centuries  had  yet  to  pass,  and  many  a 
moral  battle  to  be  fought,  before  the  idea  of  humanity  was 
accepted  in  all  its  breadth  and  embodied  in  free  institutions. 
It  will  be  indebted  for  its  final  triumphs  to  the  twofold  in- 
fluence of  the  Reformation  and  of  the  French  Revolution.  It 
will  always  have  to  contend  with  individual  and  national  selfish- 
ness ;  but  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  all  progress  in  history  is 
bound  up  with  its  triumph,  that  is  to  say,  with  its  free  accept- 
ance and  free  realisation,  leading  to  generous  self-devotion  to 
the  common  good. 

It  is  when  we  rise  to  this  moral  elevation  that  we  discern 
most  clearly  the  distinction  between  human  society  and  animal 
societies,  for  it  is  impossible  for  mere  instinctive  life  to  lift  us 
so  high.  It  is  from  this  point  of  view  also  that  we  most  clearly 
perceive  the  ever  widening  divergence  of  the  two  societies ;  for 
whereas  the  struggle  for  existence  makes  it  a  necessity  for  the 
various  animal  societies  to  disperse  and  isolate  themselves  as 
far  as  possible,  human  societies,  on  the  other  hand,  find  the 
most  favourable  conditions  of  progress  in  an  ever  tightening 
bond  of  solidarity,  securing  the  free  co-operation  of  the  in- 
tellect and  the  affections.  M.  Carrau  says  :  "  The  more  men 
from  different  quarters  of  the  globe  minify  the  differences 
which  divide  them,  and  develop  the  faculties  in  which  they 
resemble  one  another,  the  more  do  they  increase  their  pro- 
ductive powers.  Isolation  impoverishes;  frequency  of  social 
intercourse  and  the  multiplication  of  commercial  transactions 
enriches.  The  reason  of  this  is  obvious.  This  intercourse 
and  these  interchanges  not  only  stimulate  individual  energy  ; 
they  greatly  promote  the  development  of  science,  the  power 
of  which  is  in  a  sense  infinite."  1  In  the  animals,  the  struggle 
for  existence  is  the  more  successful,  the  more  distinct  are  the 
1  "  L'Homme  et  1' Animal,"  Carrau,  pp.  113,  114. 


HUMAN  SOCIETY  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES.        361 

needs  and  tastes  of  the  creatures.  The  only  species  which 
live  in  societies,  are  those  which  are  always  sure  to  find  a 
plentiful  supply  of  their  food  within  easy  reach.  Human 
societies,  on  the  contrary,  measure  their  progress  by  a  system  of 
free  exchange  in  the  largest  sense  of  the  word,  an  exchange 
which  is  even  more  essential  in  the  moral  order  than  in  the 
sphere  of  economics.  To  build  up  the  moral  unity  of  the 
race  by  free  and  universal  consent,  is  at  once  the  highest  social 
ideal  and  the  truest  interest  of  humanity.1 

1  M.  Espinas'  ideas  on  the  collective  consciousness  of  humanity  have 
been  enlarged  upon  with  much  eloquence  in  a  strange  book  which  has 
found  not  only  admirers  but  believers.  It  is  entitled  "L'Univers  Visible 
et  Invisible,"  by  Henri  de  May.  It  is  one  of  those  attempts  at  Theosophy 
which  preclude  discussion  by  their  oracular  tone  and  the  absence  of  con- 
secutive reasoning.  The  author  bases  all  his  system  upon  the  analogy 
between  the  visible  and  the  invisible  universe,  the  former  being  the  faithful 
reproduction  of  the  laws  and  conditions  of  existence  in  the  latter.  As 
multiplicity  and  subdivision  are  found  everywhere  in  the  lower  orders  of 
existence,  the  author  makes  subdivision  a  character  also  of  the  ego,  which 
he  regards  as  only  an  aggregate  of  cells  ;  and  he  ascribes  this  same  cha- 
racter to  God  Himself.  This  book,  which  is  full  of  flashes  of  genius  and  is 
of  a  high  tone  throughout,  has  nevertheless  the  grave  fault  that  it  explains 
the  higher  by  the  lower  and  makes  the  greater  proceed  from  the  less. 


FOURTH   BOOK. 

THE   PROBLEM    OF  DUTY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PRINCIPLE  AND  ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY. 

IN  our  study  of  man,  we  have  constantly  been  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  problem  of  free-will.  We  have  seen  that  in  every 
sphere  of  human  life  this  is  man's  true  characteristic,  and 
forms  the  dividing  line  between  the  instinctive  animal  life  and 
the  life  of  consciousness,  both  from  an  intellectual  and  a  moral 
point  of  view.  We  must  now  look  at  it  more  closely,  for  it  is 
one  of  the  crucial  questions  of  our  day.  We  have  to  inquire 
whether  determinism  or  the  doctrine  of  man's  free-will  is  true  ; 
whether  or  no  there  is  such  a  thing  as  morality ;  for  if  the 
conclusions  of  determinism  are  borne  out  by  the  facts  of  the 
case,  then  duty  is  a  delusive  name,  and  necessity  takes  the 
place  of  moral  obligation.  The  problem  of  man's  freedom 
thus  involves  the  problem  of  morality  itself,  its  principle  and 
its  origin.  We  shall  endeavour  to  be  as  definite  as  possible  in 
our  statements,  in  dealing  with  the  various  forms  of  deter- 
minism in  our  day.  We  shall  find  indeed  that  they  only 
embody  under  fresh  phases  objections  made  long  ago,  but  they 
present  them  in  the  garb  of  modern  science,  and  with  much 
subtlety  of  argument. 

We  shall  not  occupy  much  time  in  pleading  this  great  cause, 
because  we  are  sure  that  it  is  already  prejudged  in  the  minds 
of  all  those  who  need  that  it  should  be  pleaded  at  all,  and  who 
wish  to  test  in  the  crucible  of  the  analyst  the  primary  moral 
facts  of  conscience.  After  what  has  been  already  said  of  the 
true  experimental  method,  which  is  bound  to  diversify  its 
applications  according  to  the  different  nature  of  its  subject; 

86B 


366  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

we  are  entitled  to  be  moderate  in  our  line  of  argument.  All 
we  have  to  do  is  to  set  in  full  relief  the  fact  of  conscience,  and 
to  guard  against  any  attempt  to  falsify  or  impugn  under 
pretext  of  explaining  it. 

I:  THE  MORALITY  OF  PLEASURE  AND  OF  SELF-INTEREST. 

The  school  which  recognises  nothing  but  sensations,  and 
which  we  trace  under  various  forms  in  all  systems  opposed  to 
a  purposive  cause,  either  in  the  world  or  in  man,  could  not 
accept,  without  belying  itself,  the  idea  or  the  fact  of  moral 
obligation,  for  this  implies  an  a  priori  element  which  would 
overturn  its  whole  structure.  The  idea  of  duty  is  in  sharp 
contradiction  with  every  doctrine  which  recognises  only  facts 
that  are  contingent  and  perceived  by  the  senses.  If  reason 
and  conscience  are  indeed  only  the  result  of  combined  sen- 
sations, there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  an  antecedent  law  which 
lays  its  commands  on  man  and  treats  him  as  a  free  and 
responsible  being.  Since  the  principle  of  his  conduct  cannot 
come  from  within,  it  must  come  from  without,  consequently 
from  sensation.  Now  sensation  knows  no  category  but  that 
of  pleasure  and  pain ;  good  and  evil  are  merged  in  sensations 
pleasant  or  painful.  The  morality  of  pleasure  is  on  this  theory 
of  necessity  substituted  for  that  of  duty.  It  may  be  refined 
and  raised  from  simply  sensual  pleasure  to  pleasure  of  a 
higher  and  purer  order.  The  attempt  to  reconcile  personal 
gratification  with  the  happiness  of  one's  neighbour;  to  sub- 
stitute for  pleasure  utility  which  is  its  serious  side ;  to  seek 
the  general  good,  the  interest  of  the  greatest  number ;  these 
are  all  phases  of  the  same  principle — the  quest  of  personal 
satisfaction,  interest  as  opposed  to  duty,  to  moral  obligation. 
All  attempts  to  merge  these  two  principles  have  failed.  Let 
us  rapidly  glance  at  the  various  steps  of  this  ladder,  which  has 
its  foot  in  the  low  region  of  the  instincts,  and  whose  topmost 
round  scarce  reaches  anything  higher. 


EPICURUS.  367 

The  great  master  of  the  morality  of  pleasure  is  Epicurus. 
No  one  has  set  it  forth  with  so  much  logic  and  so  much  art  as 
he  did  in  the  philosophic  tongue  of  Greece,  that  noblest  in- 
strument of  thought.1  To  him  reason  is  the  voice  of  Nature 
within  us,  and  proceeds  from  sensation.  "  The  intellect  is 
entirely  corporeal,"  he  says,  "  and  pleasure  is  its  good." 
Pleasure  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  human  life.2  We  need 
not  consider  any  other  motive.  Philosophy  has  no  other  end 
than  to  supply  us  with  the  means  of  pleasure;  she  is  the 
artist  of  the  sensuous,  and  her  province  is  to  make  pleasure 
exquisite.3  Epicurus  admits  a  certain  choice  among  the 
proffered  pleasures,  even  though  he  does  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  the  root  of  all  good  is  in  the  gratification  of  the  appetite.4 
This  choice  is  not  decided  by  any  intrinsic  superiority  in  one 
pleasure  over  another,  which  would  imply  a  moral  test  of 
which  sensation  can  know  nothing ;  the  only  thing  is  as  far  as 
possible  to  avoid  suffering.  The  best  means  of  doing  this,  is  to 
eschew  all  excess,  to  allow  some  share  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
intellect  and  above  all  to  keep  out  of  public  life,  and  to  pay  as 
little  attention  as  possible  to  social  duties.  In  this  way  man 
attains  to  ataraxy^  that  sort  of  tranquillity  of  soul  which  is 
equivalent  to  insensibility.5  To  make  it  more  complete, 
Epicurus  endeavours  to  chase  from  the  mind  of  man  the  im- 
portunate phantom  of  the  life  to  come  and  of  Divine  judg- 
ment. He  is  especially  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  gods,  as 
spectres  at  the  feast,  without,  however,  absolutely  denying  their 
existence.  In  order  to  make  a  choice  among  pleasures 
possible  to  man,  Epicurus  attributes  to  him  a  sort  of  liberty ; 

1  Upon  Epicurus  see  "Hi<=toire  de  la  Philosophic  Antique,"  vol.  iii., 
"  Historia  Philosophise  Fontibus  Hausta,"  "  La  Morale  d' Epicure  et  ses 
Rapports  avec  les  Doctrines  Contemporaines,"  by  M.  Guyon. 

3  'Apx^  Kai  re'Xos,  "Diogenes  Laertes,"  vol.  x.,  p.  128. 

8  "Artifex  conquirendre  et  componendse  voluptatis."  Cicero  "De  Pin." 
Book  I.,  ch.  23. 

4  'Apxri  Ko.1  pifa  TTO.VTOS  ayaBou  if  rrjs  yaffTpbs  ^bvij. 

*  "  De  Natural  Rerum,"  Lucretius,  Book  II.,  v.  171. 


368  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

and  in  order  to  give  it  a  basis,  he  assigns  it  to  the  atoms  which 
in  their  combination  form  the  world.  He  admits  that  they 
have  not  always  been  subject  in  their  movements  to  inflexible 
laws,  that  they  have  undergone  some  changes  due  to  chance ; 
and  it  is  this  which  gives  scope  for  a  certain  play  of  liberty 
in  the  human  organism,  of  which  they  are  the  components. 
This  is  what  is  known  in  his  school  as  the  clmamen.1  It  must 
be  owned  that  there  were  few  among  the  Epicureans  who  made 
use  of  this  freedom  of  choice  in  favour  of  temperance  and 
intellectual  enjoyments  ;  for  the  most  part  they  sought  their 
satisfaction  in  giving  reins  to  their  sensual  passions.  After 
all,  they  knew  that  the  morality  of  pleasure  is  only  a  matter 
of  preference,  and  that  every  man  is  free  to  follow  his  own 
tastes ;  so  they  followed  theirs  without  scruple,  and  despised 
for  the  most  part  the  choice  fruits  which  the  master  hoped 
to  cultivate  on  the  tree  of  sensuous  delight.  They  clung 
to  those  grosser  appetites  which  he  had  not  proscribed. 
The  indulgence  of  the  flesh  was  the  opening  word  of  their 
system,  and  it  is  not  unjust  to  say  that  it  was  that  which  they 
always  understood  best.  They  ended  by  forming  the  sensual 
herd  which  Horace  would  not  have  so  severely  satirised  if  they 
had  not  deserved  it. 

In  truth  this  doctrine  of  pleasure  did  not  fulfil  its  promises. 
With  the  master  himself  it  led  to  a  sort  of  pessimism  ;  for  the 
ataraxy  which  he  recommended,  and  which  was  complete  only 
in  celibacy,  was  a  condemnation  of  life  in  its  natural  develop- 
ment, especially  in  the  society  of  his  day,  where  public  life 
was  everything.  Epicurus  recognised  that  an  existence  broadly 
human  must  of  necessity  be  unhappy.  For  men  who  believed 
only  in  pleasure  to  retire  from  the  world,  was  to  confess  that 
they  had  failed  to  find  pleasure  in  it.  That  stunted,  narrow, 
cramped,  colourless  existence,  which  has  for  its  one  motto 
"  Abstain,"  is  the  first  step  to  suicide.  It  is  not  strange  then 
that  Epicurus  should  have  counselled  a  voluntary  death  when 
1  "  De  Finibus,"  Cicero,  Book  I.,  ch.  xv. 


EPICUREANS.  369 

life  became  intolerable.  He  had  thought  to  console  man  by 
stifling  in  him  the  desire  of  immortality ;  and  yet  his  most 
illustrious  disciple,  Lucretius,  described  himself  as  consumed 
and  panting  with  an  unquenchable  thirst.1  The  poet  of  plea- 
sure utters  one  of  the  most  despairing  cries  that  the  world 
has  ever  heard.  He  declares  that  the  life  of  man  is  but  a  death, 
and  that  the  Promethean  vulture  is  devouring  his  heart2  It 
was  needful,  then,  that  the  morality  of  pleasure  should  be 
modified  and  expanded  in  order  to  procure  the  satisfaction 
without  which  it  was  a  mockery.  It  was  needful  also  that  it 
should  be  shown  to  be  capable  of  application  to  social  life, 
so  as  to  render  it  under  its  ordinary  conditions  possible  and 
endurable. 

The  Epicureans  of  the  i8th  century  attempted  to  bring  their 
doctrine  into  harmony  with  the  aspirations  of  their  age.  Re- 
pudiating the  system  of  absolute  tyranny  which  Hobbes,  with 
severe  logic,  had  deduced  from  it,  they  tried,  with  Helvetius, 
to  make  the  State  the  arbiter  of  morality.  Legislation  was  in- 
tended to  be  a  substitute  for  the  inner  law,  whose  existence 
was  denied ;  and  legislation  was  to  teach  men  to  reconcile 
their  private  interest  with  the  general  good.  Like  a  skilful 
carver,  who  can  make  a  god  out  of  the  stock  of  a  tree,  the  law 
was  to  form  a  virtuous  people  by  order.  Helvetius  forgets  to  tell 
us  whence  this  legislation  was  to  derive  the  very  idea  of  virtue, 
and  how  in  the  first  instance  it  was  to  realise  the  good,  and  in- 
culcate it  in  beings  destitute  of  any  predisposition  to  accept  it. 
After  adopting  Lame'trie's  well-known  saying,  "  The  senses  are 
my  masters  and  my  philosophy,"  it  could  aim  at  nothing 
beyond  animal  gratification,  for  it  contains  no  moral  principle 
to  guide  either  society  or  the  individual.  The  pantheism  of 
Spinoza,  which  obliterates  all  distinction  between  the  subject 
and  the  object,  was  equally  powerless  to  rise  to  any  conception 
of  the  moral  or  social  law. 

1  "  Et  sitis  tenet  semper  hiantes."— "  De  Natura  Rerum,"  Book  III. 
8  "  Menssibi  conscia  Prometheus  mors  vita  est." — Ibid. 

B   B 


370  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

Bentham  made  an  earnest  effort  to  derive  from  the  philosophy 
of  Epicurus,  to  which  he  remained  unswervingly  faithful,  a 
social  principle  which,  by  widening  the  sphere  of  the  individual, 
should  satisfy  his  craving  for  action,  if  it  were  only  to  escape 
the  torture  of  idleness.  He  tried  to  create  a  reaction  against 
the  two  great  imperfections  of  Epicureanism,  which  are,  on  the 
one  hand,  the  spirit  of  isolation,  fatal  to  the  social  body,  and 
on  the  other,  the  pain  of  inaction,  unbearable  to  a  naturally 
active  being.  For  man  not  to  act  is  to  revolve  in  a  vacuum, 
like  the  wheel  of  Ixion,  of  which  Lucretius  speaks.  Bentham 
endeavours  to  justify  and  exalt  the  morality  of  pleasure  by 
turning  it  into  the  morality  of  utility  and  giving  it  as  its  end 
and  aim  the  interest  of  the  greatest  number.1  He  is  not  less  op- 
posed than  Epicurus  to  intuitive  morality ;  he  repudiates  with 
scorn  that  which  he  calls  ipsodixism,  under  which  grotesque 
name  he  includes  all  that  would  imply  that  God  has  spoken 
to  us  Himself  (ipse  dixif),  in  the  depths  of  our  consciousness. 

"  I  have  accepted  as  my  guide,"  says  Bentham,  "  the  prin- 
ciple of  interest,  and  I  will  follow  it  wherever  it  may  lead  me." 
Virtue  must  be  set  aside,  as  of  a  piece  with  the  chimera  of  a 
moral  sense.  "  When  the  moralist  speaks  of  duty,  every  one 
thinks  of  his  own  interest."  Conscience  is  only  the  favourable 
opinion  which  a  man  conceives  of  his  own  condition,  and  is 
of  value  only  so  far  as  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  principle  of 
utility.  "Virtue  is  a  skilful  economist  who  serves  his  own 
interests."  Virtue  is  only  a  provisional  sacrifice,  tending  to 
the  maximum  of  pleasure,  an  advance  of  capital  which  is  to  be 
returned  with  usury.  The  drunkard  is  right  in  so  far  as  he 
seeks  enjoyment  in  excessive  drinking ;  his  mistake  is,  that  he 
gets,  after  all,  less  enjoyment  than  the  temperate  man,  and  in- 
tolerable sufferings  to  boot.  Sacrifice  is  simple  folly  :  it  is  the  sin 

1  See  M.  Guyau's  book,  "La  Morale  Anglaise  Contemporaine,  Morale 
de  1'Utilite  et  de  1'Evolution."  See  also  "  Refutation  dc  la  Morale  Utilitaire, 
Exposition  et  Critique  des  Systemes  qui  fondent  la  Morale  sur  1'Idee  du 
Bonheur."  L.  Carrau. 


BENTHAA1.  371 

of  sins  in  the  eyes  of  the  utilitarian  philosopher.  Any  pleasure 
is  legitimate  which  is  not  outweighed  by  the  pain  attending 
it.  Utilitarian  morality  is  confessedly  the  systematisation  of 
selfishness ;  only  self-interest,  rightly  understood,  includes  the 
pleasure  we  derive  from  sympathy  and  benevolence,  as  well  as 
the  reciprocity  of  kindly  feeling  which  they  bring.  Solidarity, 
or  mutual  aid,  once  accepted  by  all  as  a  principle,  is  a 
source  of  perpetually  augmenting  pleasure  and  advantage.  It 
is  thus  that  Bentham  always  identifies  private  with  public  inter- 
est. "  Social  virtue  is  the  sacrifice  which  a  man  makes  of  his 
pleasure  to  obtain,  by  serving  others,  the  maximum  of  pleasure 
for  himself."  There  is  no  surer  way  of  attaining  to  the 
maximum  of  happiness.  Thenceforward,  our  acts  being  judged 
only  by  their  results,  apart  from  all  consideration  of  motive, 
morality  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  bend  to  the  laws  of 
arithmetic.  Evil  being  the  outlay  and  good  the  income,  we 
can  reckon  up  our  pleasures  under  the  following  heads  :  first 
Intensity ;  second,  Duration ;  third,  Certainty ;  fourth,  Prox- 
imity; fifth,  Productiveness;  sixth,  Purity,  which  means  simply 
the  absence  of  all  pain;  seventh,  Comprehensiveness.  The 
maximum  of  pleasure  is  realised  when  our  interests  fall  in 
with  those  of  others,  equality  at  least  being  attained  in  the 
long  run^between  the  pleasure  given  up  and  the  pleasure 
received.  Natural  rights  are  ignored  on  the  same  ground 
as  duty.  Society  is  only  the  guardian  of  men's  interests. 
Crime  is  that  which  compromises  the  general  interest.  Punish- 
ment does  not  deal  with  the  phantom  called  guilt ;  it  is  de- 
signed solely  to  protect  the  interest  of  the  greater  number,  and 
should  be  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  sensitiveness  in 
the  delinquents.  Hence  Bentham's  pathological  studies.  Law, 
being  always  a  diminution  of  our  individual  enjoyment,  must 
(in  opposition  to  Hobbes'  absolutist  theories)  be  kept  within 
as  narrow  limits  as  possible.  Morality  is  summed  up  in  the 
words  :  "  Seek  thy  happiness  in  that  of  others  " ;  politics,  in 
these  words  :  "  Seek  the  happiness  of  all  in  that  of  each." 


372  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

Sympathy  and  selfishness  are  one  and  the  same.  Even  Adam 
Smith,  who  enjoins  sympathy  with  an  earnestness  which  does 
him  honour,  in  no  way  changes  the  basis  of  the  system. 

Without  for  the  present  entering  into  any  discussion  of  the 
principle  of  utilitarian  morality,  under  the  form  in  which 
Bentham  presents  it,  we  observe  that  it  does  not  answer  its 
end,  for  it  does  not  supply  the  means  for  giving  predominance 
to  the  general  interest ;  yet  this  is  the  indispensable  condition 
of  social  life.  The  advance  upon  the  doctrine  of  Epicurus  is 
thus  only  apparent ;  and  utilitarianism  must  seek  other  sanc- 
tion. In  truth,  nothing  can  be  more  arbitrary  than  the  calcula- 
tion of  interest  on  which  Bentham's  system  is  based,  since  the 
way  "in  which  we  are  affected  by  impressions  from  without 
depends  entirely  on  our  disposition  at  the  moment,  our  sensa- 
tions following  the  caprices  of  our  mood  and  the  fluctuations 
of  our  health.  From  Bentham's  point  of  view,  we  have  no 
motive  for  action  except  the  desire  for  the  maximum  of  pleasure 
for  ourselves.  To  bring  out  the  conclusion  that  this  maximum 
will  only  be  obtained  by  subordinating  our  actual  immediate 
interest  to  the  general  interest,  whereby  we  shall  by-and-by 
be  compensated,  requires  a  whole  train  of  reasoning.  What  is 
there  to  constrain  us  to  follow  it  out  and  to  decide  in  favour 
of  the  general  interest  ?  Let  passion  come  in  with  «its  burn- 
ing urgency,  and  it  must  carry  the  day  at  once  against  the  cold 
logic  which  has  nothing  to  oppose  to  it  of  a  really  higher 
order.  These  scales  in  which  we  are  to  weigh  our  profit  and 
loss,  before  deciding  to  renounce  the  pleasure  of  a  day,  will 
soon  turn  in  favour  of  immediate  satisfaction.  To  ensure  any 
other  result,  we  must  be  able  to  meet  one  feeling  with  another 
of  a  higher  order,  and  not  be  obliged  to  rely  on  doubtful 
chances  and  cold  arithmetical  calculations.  The  moral  con- 
sciousness, with  its  spontaneous  intuitions,  can  plead  success- 
fully the  cause  of  generosity,  but  it  is  excluded.  Some 
equivalent  however  must  needs  be  found,  something  which, 
without  being  true  intuition,  simulates  it,  takes  its  place,  and 


STUART  MILL.  373 

acts   powerfully  upon  us  at  the  very  time  when  we  have  to 
decide  against  the  allurements  of  present  pleasure. 

The  attempt  to  find  this  equivalent  was  made  by  the  Asso- 
ciationist  school  in  its  early  phase  under  Mackintosh  and 
James  Mill.  To  Stuart  Mill  was  reserved  the  honour  of 
carrying  it  through.1  He  rejects  as  decidedly  as  Bentham,  the 
idea  of  an  intuitive  conscience,  a  moral  a  priori.  In  truth, 
notwithstanding  the  elevation  of  his  great  mind,  he  adheres  to 
the  sensuous  doctrines  of  Epicurus  ;  he  recognises  nothing  but 
pleasure  agd  utility  as  the  moral  criterion.  With  a  generous 
heart,  full  of  the  truest  love  for  humanity,  he  is  even  more 
determined  than  Bentham  to  show  that  private  interest  is 
identical  with  the  general  interest ;  while  he  never  disguises  from 
himself  that  private  interest  will  always  carry  the  day  over 
the  general  interest,  if  benevolence,  sympathy,  the  thorough 
conviction  of  the  harmony  between  the  two,  has  not  taken  pos- 
session of  the  soul,  whatever  it  be  that  we  call  by  that  name. 
As  it  is  not  possible,  according  to  Stuart  Mill,  to  connect  these 
sentiments  with  innate  pre-existing  dispositions,  he  has  recourse 
to  his  great  system  of  the  association  of  ideas,  which,  by 
passing  constantly  through  the  mind  in  a  certain  order,  have 
formed  themselves  into  an  inevitable  sequence  without  any 
effort  of  thought  on  our  part2  Just  as  the  miser,  after  long 
experience  of  the  advantages  procured  by  the  possession  of 
gold,  no  longer  needs  to  think  of  it,  but  almost  spontaneously 
and  involuntarily  associates  the  idea  of  these  advantages  with 
the  metal  which  he  worships,  so  that  this  metal  alone  repre- 
sents to  him  all  that  he  could  acquire  by  its  means  ;  so  man, 
having  repeatedly  experienced  that  his  own  private  good  has 
coincided  with  the  general  good,  no  longer  separates  them, 
and  does  not  need  to  reason  or  calculate  in  order  to  decide 
in  favour  of  the  general  good,  but  rather  inclines  to  it  by 
a  sort  of  instinct  which  is  only  the  result  of  an  association 

1  "  Utilitarianism."    J.  S.  Mill. 

2  Ibid.,  chap.  iii. 


374  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

of  ideas  strengthened  by  habit.  The  sanction  of  morality  has 
no  other  origin.  The  frequency  of  lamentable  consequences 
accruing  from  our  acts  of  selfishness,  comes  in  the  end  to 
connect  the  idea  of  pain  with  the  exclusive  pursuit  of  our 
own  interest.  Remorse  is  a  result  of  this  association  of 
feelings,  which  maintains  throughout  its  purely  passive  charac- 
ter. Punishment  is  simply  a  defensive  measure,  to  secure  the 
community  against  all  that  injures  its  interests,  and  it  is  on 
this  ground  alone  that  we  dread  it.  Thus  is  formed  within  us 
the  instinctive  idea  of  justice  and  of  law.  The  feeing  of  our 
responsibility  arises  out  of  the  fear  of  bringing  upon  ourselves 
the  annoying  effects  of  these  defensive  measures.  As  a  means 
of  assuring  the  safety  of  society,  punishment  is  perfectly 
legitimate,  without  implying  any  responsibility  on  the  part  of 
the  criminal.  Stuart  Mill  thinks  he  has  avoided,  by  these 
subtle  distinctions,  the  slow  calculations  which  Bentham's 
theory  demanded,  and  has  secured  that  rapid  decision  of  the 
individual  which  will  lead  him  in  each  special  case  to  subordi- 
nate his  own  interest  to  that  of  the  many.  But  the  problem 
is  not  solved,  for  if  the  individual  once  comes  to  perceive  how 
artificial  is  the  bond  which  connects  the  idea  of  his  private 
interest  with  that  of  the  public,  it  will  lose  all  power  over 
his  mind.  Stuart  Mill's  moral  system  will  not  bear  the 
light,  for  the  more  clearly  it  is  set  forth,  the  more  certainly 
will  the  fatal  secret  creep  out,  and  the  more  shall  we  come  to 
disregard  as  fictitious  the  feeling  of  obligation  that  results  from 
a  mere  association  of  ideas.  It  is  not  possible  for  the  re- 
fined utilitarianism  of  this  great  thinker  to  escape  this  result; 
its  principle  evanishes  as  soon  as  stated.  Once  understood, 
it  ceases  to  be  efficacious.  If  we  look  then  only  at  utili- 
tarianism in  itself,  without  going  any  higher,  we  find  it  is 
reduced  to  an  absurdity  and  stultified  by  an  inherent  con- 
tradiction. We  know  indeed  that  Stuart  Mill  fenced  his 
system  against  any  relapse  into  the  selfishness  which  his 
generous  heart  abhorred.  He  tried  to  set  up  a  hierarchy 


ENGLISH  ASSOCIA  TION1ST  SCHOOL.  375 

of  pleasures,  distinguished  from  each  other  by  their  quality. 
The  pleasures  of  the  body  were  to  be  subordinated  to  the 
delicate  pleasures  of  the  rnind,  in  virtue  of  the  dignity  of 
man,  to  which  he  boldly  appealed.  "  It  is  better,"  he  said, 
"to  be  a  dissatisfied  man  than  a  satisfied  pig."1  These  senti- 
ments do  him  honour,  but  he  did  not  owe  them  to  his  utili- 
tarian principle.  In  order  to  establish  various  degrees  of 
pleasure,  we  need  another  criterion  than  the  agreeable  or 
the  useful,  which  furnishes  us  with  no  scale  of  perfection.  The 
dignity  of  man  is  only  conceivable  if  the  ego  is  something 
more  than  a  parcel  of  sensations  closely  bound  together.  Man 
satisfied  in  any  way,  is  better  than  man  dissatisfied  and 
saddened,  even  though  in  his  sadness  there  be  something 
sublime  ;  for  utilitarianism  has  no  right  to  establish  any  specific 
difference  between  man  and  the  lowest  animal.  Stuart  Mill 
feels  so  strongly  that  he  has  no  moral  criterion  to  mark  the 
difference  between  various  sorts  of  pleasure,  that  he  bows  to 
public  opinion,  and  refers  himself  to  the  judgment  of  men 
generally  to  determine  the  scale  of  interests.2  Bain,  his 
disciple  and  his  rival,  has  not  hesitated  to  attribute  to  a  sort 
of  initiative  given  by  the  civil  authority  the  semblance  of  moral 
obligation,  which  he  seeks  to  maintain  because  he  cannot  dis- 
pute its  usefulness.  The  internal  government  of  the  individual 
man  he  regards  as  a  mere  copy  of  the  government  of  the  State. 
It  is  clear  then  that  the  English  Associationist  school  has  not 
been  able  to  carry  utilitarianism  to  a  point  at  which  it  would 
assure  the  general  peace  by  subordinating  private  interest  to 
the  interest  of  the  greatest  number.  To  this  end  something  less 
uncertain  than  a  calculation,  less  artificial  than  an  association  of 
ideas,  is  needed.  The  great  Evolutionist  school  has  attempted 
to  solve  the  difficulty  by  connecting  social  utilitarianism  with 
a  development  at  once  mental  and  physiological  by  which  it 
becomes  a  positive  necessity.  In  this  attempt  it  had  been 

1  "  Utilitarianism,"  Stuart  Mill,  p.  14. 

2  Ibid.,  chap.  iii. 


376  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

anticipated  by  French  positivism,  which  was  no  less  antago- 
nistic to  anything  like  d  priori  or  moral  intuition.  According 
to  Auguste  Comte  and  Littre,  the  two  great  functions  of  our 
organism,  nutrition  and  reproduction,  produce  two  orders  of 
feeling.  The  faculties  of  nutrition  give  rise  to  selfish  instincts  ; 
those  of  reproduction  to  instincts  which  carry  us  out  of 
ourselves,  to  benevolence,  sympathy,  what  this  school  calls 
altruism.  Littre'  added  to  these  two  orders  of  feeling  the 
entirely  abstract  idea  of  equality  among  men,  founded  upon  a 
sort  of  mathematical  equation,  without  any  moral  bearing; 
this  he  attributed  to  the  operation  of  the  brain.  We  shall  not 
dwell  upon  the  special  theory  of  positivism,  because  it  has 
been  largely  extended  and  supplemented  by  evolutionism. 
Evolutionism  is  not  satisfied  with  placing  in  juxtaposition  the 
two  orders  of  feeling  arising  from  the  instincts  of  nutrition  and 
reproduction  ;  it  makes  the  latter  proceed  from  the  former  by 
a  process  of  evolution.  Darwin  tries  to  show  that  the  social 
instinct  develops  itself  in  animals  under  the  influence  of  the 
quest  for  pleasure.  It  is  memory  and  reflexion  which,  in  man, 
raise  it  into  sociability.  Herbert  Spencer  has  largely  ex- 
panded the  moral  doctrine  of  evolution  in  his  book  on  the 
data  of  ethics.1  We  can  but  admire  in  the  book  the  extra- 
ordinary argumentative  power  displayed,  and  the  amplitude  of 
positive  information.  Herbert  Spencer  connects  ethics  with 
the  general  principles  of  his  system,  which  hinges  entirely,  as 
we  have  already  shown,  on  the  axiom  of  the  conservation  and 
transformation  of  energy.  In  the  moral  sphere  we  find  this 
same  mechanical  energy  developed  in  time  and  space,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  laws  of  universal  existence,  which  require 
that  the  homogeneous  shall  always  tend  to  the  heterogeneous, 
and  the  heterogeneous  to  the  definite,  to  individualisation.  Each 
fresh  stage  of  evolution  is  the  result  of  a  new  struggle  for 
existence,  which  has  only  left  remaining  the  victorious  elements, 
allowing  these  to  adapt  themselves  to  their  environment,  and 
1  *'  The  Data  of  Ethics."  Herbert  Spencer. 


EVOLUTIONIST  MORALITY.  377 

to  transmit  by  heredity  all  the  advantages  they  have  acquired 
Development  is  thus  carried  on  in  one  ascending  line,  at  once 
psychical  and  physiological.  To  the  period  of  integration  and 
progress  succeeds  the  period  of  disaggregation,  according  to 
the  eternal  law  of  rhythm. 

Let  us  see  how  these  laws  of  existence  or  of  motion  are 
applied  to  morals  by  Herbert  Spencer.  Starting  from  the 
principles  of  pure  mechanism,  he  sets  aside  from  the  outset 
everything  like  intuition  or  an  innate  principle.  Morality, 
proceeding  only  from  sensation,  has  but  one  object — pleasure 
or  utility.  According  to  the  law,  however,  which  impels 
the  heterogeneous  to  assume  various  forms,  morality  does  not 
remain  in  the  state  of  vague  sensation;  it  becomes  complicated 
as  it  progresses ;  it  assumes  definite  forms,  and  adapts  itself 
more  and  more  to  the  ever-increasing  complexity  of  its  en- 
vironment, till,  in  human  society,  it  arrives  at  that  totality  of 
multiple  relations,  which  in  their  ultimate  co-ordination  give  the 
general  interest  as  the  resultant  of  all  private  interests.  Thus 
altruism  is  naturally  evolved  from  selfishness.  By  means  of 
hereditary  transmission,  it  becomes  a  sort  of  necessary  instinct, 
corresponding  to  the  stage  in  the  physiological  development  of 
the  species  which  has  been  reached;  but  through  all  the  suc- 
cessive transformations  wrought  by  evolution,  the  root  of  this 
morality  remains  the  same,  namely,  the  search  after  pleasure 
— that  is,  selfishness. 

In  his  book  on  the  Data  of  Ethics,  Herbert  Spencer  defines 
ethics  to  be  the  science  of  conduct.  Conduct  means  nothing 
more  than  the  adaptation  of  man  to  his  environment,  in 
conformity  with  the  law  which  makes  him  pass  from  the 
homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous,  and  evolves  ever  fresh 
complications  and  co-ordinations.  In  this  broad  sense,  there 
is  conduct  also  in  physical  nature,  since  it  only  subsists  and 
develops  itself  by  means  of  this  same  plan  of  adaptation.  Well- 
fitting  boots  are  the  very  type  of  morality,  according  to  a 
favourite  figure  of  Herbert  Spencer's.  Morality  and  conduct 


378  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

are  all  one.  There  is  conduct  in  the  animal  world,  nay  in  the 
organism  itself.  The  organs,  like  the  functions,  have  their 
morality,  which  consists  in  their  finding  their  equilibrium. 
Under  the  influence  of  sentiments  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  the 
human  faculties  tend,  in  their  turn,  to  adapt  themselves  more 
and  more  to  their  larger  and  more  complicated  environment. 
To  each  phase  of  evolution  there  is  a  corresponding  morality, 
that  is  to  say,  a  particular  line  of  conduct,  which  consists 
simply  in  adaptation  to  given  conditions.  In  the  phase  of 
savage  life,  man's  morality  is  of  the  same  nature  as  that  of  the 
wolf,  for  violence  is  alone  adapted  to  the  then  conditions  of 
his  existence.  In  a  higher  stage,  morality,  or  the  rule  of  con- 
duct, changes  with  the  changed  conditions;  the  inextricable 
entanglement  of  interests  in  a  civilised  state  of  society,  sug- 
gests the  idea  of  solidarity  or  co-operation,  and  altruism  is 
the  only  principle  suited  to  this  highest  social  state.  The 
idea  of  good  and  evil  changes  from  age  to  age,  following,  as  it 
is  bound  to  do,  all  the  fluctuations  of  evolution.  Thus,  under 
the  influence  of  accumulated  experiences,  bearing  always  upon 
that  which  can  ensure  the  largest  amount  of  pleasure  and  utility 
in  every  new  phase  of  human  history,  the  conscience  of  the 
race  as  it  exists  to-day,  has  been  formed  by  hereditary  trans- 
mission. This  conscience,  at  least  in  its  higher  manifestations, 
urges  us  to  altruism,  that  is,  to  the  identification  of  our  inter- 
ests with  those  of  other  men.  It  follows  that  it  is  through  a 
course  of  selfishness  and  utilitarianism  that  we  arrive  at  the 
results  sought  in  an  opposite  way  by  intuitive  morality.  We 
come,  without  any  sense  of  moral  obligation,  to  hold  ourselves 
bound  to  altru-ism,  by  virtue  of  the  instinct  derived  from 
heredity  and  the  result  of  ages  of  experience.  The  Evolu- 
tionist school  hopes  to  remove  in  this  way  the  practical 
difficulties  which  proved  insurmountable  in  Bentham's  theory, 
and  even  in  Stuart  Mill's ;  and  to  supply  the  equivalent  to 
that  moral  intuition,  which  had  the  advantage  of  giving  us 
a  proximate  motive  to  the  fulfilment  of  social  duties,  without 


MORALITY  OF  SELF-INTEREST  REFUTED.          379 

forcing  us  to  have  recourse  either  to  a  cold  calculation  incom- 
petent to  stem  the  tide  of  passion,  or  to  an  association  of  ideas 
whose  slight  and  artificial  bond  of  union  could  not  bear  reflexion 

II.  REFUTATION  OF  THE  MORALITY  OF  SELF-INTEREST. 

We  have  arrived  already  at  one  refutation  of  the  morality 
of  self-interest,  in  tracing  the  succession  of  systems  which  have 
dealt  with  it.  Bentham's  utilitarianism  takes  the  place  of  the 
eudamonism  of  Epicurus,  which  confined  itself  to  the  indi- 
vidual, and  did  nothing  for  society ;  and  hence  failed  to  satisfy 
even  the  individual,  who,  as  a  social  being,  cannot  find  in 
isolation  all  the  happiness  he  seeks.  Bentham,  in  his  turn, 
failed  in  his  attempt  to  connect  private  with  general  interests, 
because  he  found  no  way  to  ensure  the  sacrifice  of  the  former 
to  the  latter,  since  an  elaborate  calculation  proves  ill  adapted 
to  withstand  the  eager  impulses  of  passion.  Stuart  Mill,  in 
his  theory  of  the  association  of  ideas,  endeavoured  to  create 
in  the  individual  a  sort  of  derived  spontaneity,  a  second- 
hand conscience,  which  was  to  have  the  same  influence  as 
moral  obligation ;  but  he  failed  too,  for  he  told  his  secret,  as 
indeed  he  was  compelled  to  do,  since  his  system  would  be  a 
nullity  without  it.  Its  whole  gist  lies  in  the  sous-entendu,  which, 
once  known,  nullifies  this  derived  spontaneity.  A  spontaneity 
which  knows  itself  to  be  derived,  can  render  no  further  service. 
Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  physiological  evolutionism,  brings  out 
clearly  the  inadequacy  of  the  explanations  previously  advanced, 
but  he  leaves  us  nevertheless  to  the  same  principle,  the 
morality  of  pleasure  and  of  self-interest,  as  opposed  to  intuitive 
moral  obligation.  In  refuting  him,  we  shall  refute  also  all 
who  preceded  him  on  the  same  track  and  who  are  at  one 
with  him  on  fundamental  points. 

Our  primary  objection  is,  that  the  explanation  of  the  moral 
fact,  given  by  utilitarianism  in  all  its  forms,  is  not  an  ex- 
planation. To  explain,  is  to  account  for  the  fact,  not  to 
ignore  or  alter  it.  An  explanation  which  begins  by  falsifying 


380  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

facts,  is  itself  false ;  it  is  not  in  harmony  with  true  scientific 
methods,  which  are  based  upon  experience  and  have  no  right 
to  tamper  with  it.  Fact  is  supreme  in  the  domain  of  science. 
To  modify  under  pretext  of  explaining  it,  is  to  substitute  the 
philosopher's  own  idea  for  nature  ;  it  is  to  fall  into  the  error 
which  is  so  strongly  denounced  in  the  representatives  of  the 
opposite  school,  and  to  shape  things  according  to  a  precon- 
ceived type.  Now  we  maintain  that  this  is  what  utilitarianism 
does  with  the  fact  of  conscience,  by  which  I  mean  the  inward 
moral  sense ;  it  attempts  really  to  dissolve  it  in  its  crucible. 
When  we  speak  of  the  moral  sense,  we  do  not  mean  to  reduce 
moral  obligation  to  a  manifestation  of  sensibility  as  fluctuating 
as  that  of  sensation.  Obligation  proceeds  from  the  reason 
itself;  it  is  its  application  to  the  will.1  This  is  why  it  is  also 
called  the  practical  reason ;  but  it  has  no  mere  intellectual 
existence ;  it  is  animated  by  emotion.  Let  it  be  understood 
then  that  by  the  moral  sense,  we  mean  the  practical  reason 
animated  by  emotion. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  moral  sense,  thus  understood,  can 
be  confounded  with  the  quest  of  pleasure  or  utility.  Moral 
feeling  consists  in  recognising  our  obligation  in  relation  to  a 
law  which  we  call  good,  and  which  commands  without  con- 
straining us.  We  feel  at  once  two  things :  first,  that  we  can 
and  ought  to  obey  this  law,  and  second,  that  we  are  at  once 
bound  by  it  and  capable  of  breaking  it,  wherein  lies  our 
responsibility.  That  this  is  a  feeling  in  the  human  mind, 
needs  no  proof.  There  is  no  fact  more  certain,  and  more 
easily  verified.  Remorse  and  indignation  are  its  universal 
and  spontaneous  manifestations ;  and  they  suffice  to  distin- 
guish it  from  the  most  refined  utilitarianism.  It  is  impossible 
to  confound  the  anguish  of  mind  caused  by  a  violation  of  the 
moral  law,  with  the  regret  or  sadness  resulting  from  a  mis- 
fortune or  a  failure.  This  is  so  true,  that,  in  the  midst  of 

1  See  on  this  point  Francisque  Bouillicr's  book,  "La  Vraie  Con- 
science," chaps,  xiv.,  xv. 


MORALITY  OF  SELF-INTEREST  REFUTED.         381 

success,  remorse  plunges  its  venomous  dart  even  deeper  into 
the  soul  than  in  the  hour  of  discovery  and  disgrace.  It  is 
the  "  pitted  speck  "  in  the  garnered  fruit  of  prosperity.  Only 
a  very  superficial  psychology  can  identify  the  pain  caused  by 
loss  of  money  or  by  wounded  self-love,  with  the  shame  which 
overwhelms  a  man  after  a  dastardly  deed.  Infamy  makes  itself 
felt  in  altogether  a  different  way  from  sickness.  Have  we  not 
seen  a  bright  smile  lighting  up  the  face  of  one  persecuted 
for  righteousness'  sake?  It  is  with  justice  that  Tertullian 
says,  in  speaking  of  tortures  endured  in  a  just  cause,  "  Est 
illecebra  in  illis"  there  is  a  charm  in  them.  The  most  ardent 
utilitarian  knows  that  this  is  true;  and  in  the  secret  of  his 
heart,  when  he  escapes  for  a  time  from  the  spirit  of  system, 
he  experiences  these  deep  joys  and  sorrows  which  attest  our 
responsibility.  Indignation,  which  is  a  sort  of  remorse  that  we 
feel  for  others,  gives  even  stronger  attestation  to  it.  Why  this 
importunate  intrusion  on  the  triumphs  of  successful  crime  ? 
Why  do  not  the  moralists  of  pleasure  hail  those  triumphs  when 
the  crime  committed  seems  for  a  few  days  to  have  assured 
the  material  prosperity  of  a  country,  as  has  been  the  case  with 
many  a  dictatorship  that  has  sprung  out  of  the  ashes  of 
anarchy  ?  Why  this  indignant  protest  against  usurpation,  even 
avenging  it  by  exile  or  imprisonment  ?  Because  there  is 
something  beyond  success,  even  the  most  brilliant  and  seem- 
ingly serviceable.  It  must  not  be  said  that  this  indignant 
protest  is  actuated  by  the  prevision  of  the  ulterior  conse- 
quences of  injustice.  This  is  not  so  ;  for  when  a  great 
criminal  succumbs,  indignation  moderates  and  pity  asserts 
itself.  Indignation  reaches  its  highest  point  when  the  criminal 
is  in  the  full  tide  of  success.  The  counterpart  of  this  indigna- 
tion is  the  spontaneous  admiration  which  viitue  excites,  even 
when  it  is  carried  to  the  length  of  sacrifice,  of  complete 
immolation.  Whence  come  those  generous  tears  which  over- 
flow our  eyes  when  we  see  one  man  risking  his  life  to  save 
another?  If  he  loses  his  own  in  the  effort,  our  admiration 


382  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

knows  no  bounds.  Even  those  who  do  not  believe  that  there 
is  another  life  for  him  after  he  has  sunk  beneath  the  waters, 
cannot  withstand  this  impulse.  Heroism  always  and  every- 
where excites  enthusiasm.  It  is  the  triumph  of  conscience ; 
and  yet,  from  a  utilitarian  point  of  view,  it  is  sheer  absurdity, 
sublime  folly ;  for  while  altruism  can  explain  the  subordination 
of  our  own  interest  to  that  of  the  greatest  number,  it  has  no 
excuse  for  the  folly  of  voluntary  self-sacrifice,  since  the  theory 
of  sensation  from  which  it  is  derived,  does  not  admit  that 
the  soul  can  survive. 

This  feeling  of  obligation  has  found  its  highest  expression 
in  poetry,  which  for  the  moment  I  regard  simply  as  the  spon- 
taneous testimony  of  the  soul  of  man.  Whenever  it  places  an 
ideal  before  us,  it  is  in  an  heroic  form.  This  ideal  of  heroism 
is  at  first  confounded  with  bravery,  which  dares  all  dangers  for 
the  sake  of  victory ;  then,  as  it  becomes  gradually  purified,  it 
rises  to  the  height  of  devotion,  self-sacrifice.  In  every  litera- 
ture nobility  is  pictured  as  disinterested.  The  drama  is  based 
on  the  idea  of  moral  responsibility ;  it  is  only  pathetic  in  the 
degree  in  which  it  describes  the  conflict  between  passion 
and  duty.  Take  away  this  struggle,  and  nothing  is  left  but  a 
wearisome  tale,  a  tissue  of  disconnected  adventures.  When 
the  drama  represents  moral  defeat,  it  is  not  as  mere  mis- 
fortune, but  as  an  infraction  of  the  la\v  of  good.  Great 
poetry  has  expressed  the  sense  of  culpability  with  terrible 
force,  from  old  vEschylus,  who  said  that  blood  shed  by  a 
murderer  freezes  on  the  ground,  that  all  the  waters  of  ocean 
cannot  cleanse  the  bloodstained  hand ;  to  Shakspeare,  putting 
into  the  mouth  of  his  Richard  III.,  while  the  crown  still  seemed 
firm  upon  his  head,  that  terrible  imprecation  of  vengeance  for 
all  his  crimes,  the  anguished  cry  of  remorse  such  as  never  burst 
from  lion  or  tiger  gorged  with  the  blood  of  innocent  victims  :— 

"O  coward  Conscience,  how  thou  dost  afflict  me  ! 
The  lights  burn  blue.  It  is  now  dead  midnight. 
Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 


MORALITY  OF  SELF-INTEREST  REFUTED.          383 

What  do  I  fear?  myself?  there's  none  else  by  : 

Richard  loves  Richard  ;  that  is,  I  am  I. 

Is  there  a  murtherer  here  ?  No.     Yes  ;  I  am  : 

Then  fly,— What,  from  myself?     Great  reason  :  Why? 

Lest  I  revenge.     What?  Myself  upon  myself? 

Alack,  I  love  myself.     Wherefore  ?  for  any  good 

That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself? 

Oh,  no  ;  alas,  I  rather  hate  myself 

For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 

I  am  a  villain.     Yet  I  lie,  I  am  not. 

Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well  :  Fool,  do  not  flatter. 

My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues, 

And  every  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale, 

And  every  tale  condemns  me  for  a  villain. 

Perjury,  perjury  in  the  high'st  degree  ; 

Murther,  stern  murther,  in  the  dir'st  degree  ; 

All  several  sins,  all  used  in  each  degree, 

Throng  to  the  bar,  crying  all, — •  Guilty  !  guilty  J '"  l 

Even  to-day,  in  this  advancing  nineteenth  century,  while 
utilitarian  evolutionism  is  reducing  morality  to  pleasure  and  to 
utility,  which  is  the  pervading  principle  even  of  the  altruism 
that  makes  the  interest  of  the  individual  one  with  that  of  the 
community,  poetry  in  its  loftiest  tones  vindicates  the  majesty 
of  the  inward  law  of  love  and  purity. 

Social  life  is  based  entirely  upon  the  idea  of  obligation. 
In  every  tribunal  that  sits  to  judge  a  criminal,  the  question  of 
moral  responsibility  is  raised,  and  the  punishment  is  propor- 
tioned to  the  criminal  intention.  Hence  the  plea  of  insanity 
so  often  advanced  to  save  a  criminal.  It  is  impossible,  then, 
to  regard  punishment,  as  utilitarianism  teaches,  simply  as  a  safe- 
guard of  society.  The  very  purpose  of  the  institution  of  the 
jury,  is  to  take  a  true  measure  of  the  responsibility  of  the  ac- 
cused, by  superadding  to  the  judgment  of  the  written  law  the 
direct  testimony  of  the  moral  sense. 

From  all  that  has  been  said,  it  follows  that  the  sense  of 
moral  obligation,  with  its  corollary,  the  sense  of  responsibility, 
constitutes  the  moral  fact,  as  it  manifests  itself  in  the  human 
1  "  King  Richard  III.,"  Act  v.,  scene  3. 


384  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

soul,  and  in  the  most  unmistakable  social  phenomena.  It 
follows  that  the  utilitarian  theories,  which  all  agree  in  denying 
it,  are  contrary  to  fact.  To  deny  is  not  to  explain. 

This  result  will  appear  yet  more  evident  if,  leaving  generali- 
ties, we  examine,  one  after  another,  the  various  elements  com- 
posing the  sense  of  moral  obligation,  and  which  are  the  very 
conditions  of  all  morality  worthy  of  the  name  and  really  effec- 
tive. In  order  that  there  may  be  obligation,  and  consequently 
morality,  there  must  be, — first,  a  law,  an  ideal,  a  notion  of  good, 
else  obligation  would  be  altogether  indefinite ;  second,  a  law 
which  refers  not  only  to  the  results  of  our  actions  but  to  those 
actions  themselves,  and  to  their  motives,  else  obligation  would 
not  make  itself  felt  by  the  true  ego,  and  would  be  fictitious ; 
third,  a  law  which,  under  pain  of  failure,  places  its  highest 
sanction — the  moral  sanction — in  the  inner  nature  of  the  ego; 
fourth,  a  law  which  is  really  intuitive  and  antecedent  to  expe- 
rience. Empiricism,  which  makes  good  consist  in  the  proved 
results  of  our  acts,  destroys,  by  .this  very  fact,  the  character  of 
the  categorical  imperative,  or  of  direct  obligation  in  the  human 
heart.  We  shall  show  that  utilitarianism,  which  generally 
denies  obligation  without  attempting  to  explain  it,  is  fatal  to 
each  of  these  necessary  conditions,  and  consequently  fatal  to 
morality  itself. 

We  have  said,  first,  that  obligation  implies  the  idea  of  a  fixed 
law  serving  as  a  moral  criterion,  and  defining  that  distinction 
between  good  and  evil  which  subsists  under  all  possible  diversi- 
ties in  the  mode  of  its  application.  Neither  pleasure,  nor 
utility,  nor  interest  rightly  understood,  nor  the  harmony  of 
the  particular  with  the  general  interest,  will  give  us  the  idea  of 
law.  As  far  as  pleasure  is  concerned,  this  is  obvious  ;  nothing 
is  more  fugitive  and  uncertain,  since  it  depends  on  sensation, 
and  shares  in  its  fluctuations.  When  the  attempt  is  made  to 
establish  a  hierarchy  among  pleasures,  and  to  distinguish  the 
higher  from  the  lower,  utilitarians  are  rising  into  a  sphere 
which  they  have  no  right  to  enter.  In  order  to  decide  that  one 


PRINCIPLE  AND   ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY.  385 

pleasure  is  more  desirable  than  another,  there  must  be  a  higher 
criterion  than  pleasure  itself.  The  quality  of  pleasure  must  al- 
ways be  equivalent  to  the  quantity,  for  there  is  no  motive  to 
seek  in  it  anything  else  than  the  highest  sum  of  satisfaction. 
The  useful  does  not  differ  essentially  from  the  agreeable.  "  In 
any  case,"  as  M.  Renouvier  says,  "  between  one  sort  of  use- 
fulness and  another,  there  is  always  a  possible  conflict,  even 
in  the  same  subject ;  the  criterion  which  is  to  be  the  decid- 
ing test  is  not  then  contained  in  the  idea  of  utility.1  Will 
there  not  always  be  a  conflict  between  immediate  utility  and 
utility  in  the  long  run  ?  How  can  it  be  shown,  from  this 
limited  point  of  view,  that  it  is  better  to  sacrifice  the  satisfac- 
tion of  to-day,  for  the  sake  of  some  satisfaction  in  the  distant 
future  ?  Is  not  the  future  uncertain  ?  Nor  will  it  involve  a 
less  serious  conflict  to  sacrifice  personal  interest  to  the  interests 
of  others  ;  for  such  a  motive  is  not  so  evident  and  certain  as 
to  put  an  end  to  all  indecision.  As  utilitarianism  has  nothing 
to  advance  but  utility,  it  can  furnish  no  motive  to  make  any 
given  choice  binding  on  us.  It  does  not  then  contain  its  own 
rule,  its  own  criterion.  It  is  altogether  opposed  to  the  idea 
of  law;  thus  utilitarianism  leads  us  constantly  into  the  dan- 
gerous casuistry  that  is  perpetually  sanctioning  exceptions  even 
to  the  halting  and  imperfect  moral  rule  which  it  has  tried  to 
frame  without  getting  above  its  own  low  region.  Thus  we  find 
Stuart  Mill,  the  most  generous  of  utilitarians,  falling  back  in 
the  end  upon  public  opinion.  Nothing  could  more  clearly 
show  that  utilitarianism  makes  shipwreck  of  everything  resem- 
bling the  idea  of  obligation,  of  law,  or  even  of  rule. 

We  said  in  the  second  place,  that  moral  obligation,  as  it 
reveals  itself  spontaneously  to  us,  has  reference  to  our  acts 
themselves,  and  not  to  their  results.  Its  motto  is,  Do  what  you 
ought,  come  what  may.  We  never  reproach  ourselves  for  a  mis- 
fortune which  is  not  our  fault.  Suffering  in  itself  inspires  us 
with  no  remorse,  for  the  simple  reason  that  we  constantly  find 
1  "Science  de  la  Morale,"  Ch.  Renouvier,  vol.  i.,  p.  177. 

C  C 


386  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

in  the  actual  conditions  of  our  experience,  that  outward  happi- 
ness does  not  coincide  with  right  and  justice.  It  may  even 
be  said  that  the  greatest  suffering  calls  out  the  highest  virtue. 
This  the  human  conscience  has  always  recognised ;  it  knows 
that  it  is  only  responsible  for  that  which  lies  within  its  power. 
Now  it  has  the  power  to  do  right,  but  not  to  transform  the 
world  so  as  to  banish  suffering.  We  have  the  disposition 
of  ourselves,  not  of  things ;  we  can  do  our  duty,  not  direct 
events.  It  follows  that  our  actions  are  good  or  bad  in  them- 
selves, and  not  according  to  their  happy  or  unhappy  results. 
Now  this  is  what  utilitarianism  cannot  grant.  In  its  view,  it 
matters  little  what  I  do ;  all  that  matters  is,  to  know  whether 
I  am  securing  my  own  interests  and,  by  hypothesis,  those  of 
others  also.  The  moral  judgment  is  thus  removed  from  the 
inner  to  the  outer  life,  and  is  at  variance  with  our  inward 
sense  of  right. 

The  moral  consciousness  is  not  content  with  judging  our 
actions  apart  from  their  results.  It  goes  further  and  sits  in 
judgment  on  the  motive,  the  inspiration  of  the  act;  and  by 
this  it  approves  or  condemns.1  We  know  indeed  that  an  act 
may  be  apparently  good  and  really  bad  ;  that  we  may  feign 
kindness  and  generosity,  while  we  are  really  actuated  by 
low  and  selfish  motives,  seeking  only  our  own  interests.  Sup- 
pose a  politician  desirous  to  make  his  position  secure,  and 
therefore  scattering  his  benefits  far  and  wide.  At  heart  he 
cares  nothing  for  the  sorrows  he  soothes,  the  causes  he  helps 
forward ;  he  is  only  thinking  of  himself,  he  has  no  other  view 
than  to  obtain  credit  out  of  which  he  may  make  his  own 
name  and  fame.  From  the  standpoint  of  moral  obligation,  he 
has  not  done  a  single  good  action.  With  all  his  munificence, 
he  has  only  been  seeking  selfish  gratification.  But  utilitarian 
morality  is  bound  to  commend  him,  it  has  nothing  to  do 

1  See  M.  Beausire's  excellent  article  on  "  Evolutionist  Morality,"  Revue 
dcs  Deux  Mondes,  Dec.  15,  1880.  See  also  M.  Franck's  paper  on  the  same 
subject,  read  to  the  Academic  des  Sciences  Morales. 


PRINCIPLE  AND   ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY.  387 

with  his  motives ;  they  are  to  it  as  though  they  had  no 
existence.  He  has  reconciled  his  own  interest  with  that  of  the 
greatest  number,  and  this  is  enough.  It  is  needless  to  multiply 
illustrations.  We  do  not  know  on  what  ground  utilitarianism 
could  blame  hypocrisy,  which,  so  long  as  it  is  not  discovered, 
produces  the  same  effect  as  virtue.  It  must  only  be  thorough 
enough  to  succeed.  Thus  the  inner  sphere  of  morality,  the 
only  one  in  which  it  ean  be  truly  applied,  does  not  come 
within  the  scope  of  utilitarianism  at  all.  Utilitarians  only 
make  clean  the  outside  of  the  cup  and  platter,  like  the  Phari- 
sees in  Christ's  day,  who  were  the  timeservers  of  morality,  that 
is  to  say,  the  utilitarians  of  their  age. 

When  once  the  motive  of  the  act  is  left  out  of  view,  and  the 
act  itself  only  estimated  by  its  result,  morality  has  lost  its 
inward  sanction,  which  is  the  third  condition  of  its  existence. 
There  is  no  place  left  indeed  for  self-approval  or  self-con- 
demnation, since  no  act  is  in  itself  good  or  bad.  The  scaffold 
is  the  disgrace,  not  the  crime.  Punishment,  which  is  the  result 
of  our  clumsy  mismanagement,  is  the  one  thing  to  be  dreaded. 
Now  "  punishment  is  slow  of  foot,"  as  says  the  poet,  sometimes 
so  slow  that  death  comes  before  it;  and  as  there  is  nothing 
beyond  death,  no  place  is  left  for  any  sanction.  From  the 
standpoint  of  obligation,  it  avails  little  that  punishment 
lingers ;  its  place  is  supplied,  as  soon  as  ever  the  wrong 
has  been  done,  by  the  inward  torture,  the  feeling  of  degrada- 
tion. Stuart  Mill  will  never  succeed  in  identifying  this  feeling 
with  the  conviction,  which  he  says  has  gradually  become  in- 
tuitive 01  instinctive,  that  society  is  instituted  to  protect  its 
imperilled  interests,  and  to  prevent,  by  punishing  them,  the 
repetition  of  acts  which  compromise  it.  This  statement  does 
not  carry  us  beyond  the  wholly  external  sphere  of  results, 
and  does  not  touch  the  acts  themselves  and  their  motives. 
The  remorse  to  which  we  have  already  referred  as  a  primary 
proof  of  the  fact  of  obligation,  and  which  we  are  now  looking 
at  in  its  penal  action,  is  the  great  avenger  of  the  broken  law. 


388  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

The  inward  Nemesis  is  busy  long  before  the  outward  penalties, 
direct  or  indirect,  are  inflicted.  Seneca,  the  faithful  echo  of 
conscience,  says  :  "  The  greatest  punishment  of  sin,  is  having 
sinned.  Let  us  recognise  that  evil  actions  are  avenged  by 
conscience.  Nothing  equals  the  torments  which  it  causes,  for 
its  blows  fall  heavily  and  unceasingly.''1  "It  is  more  cruel 
:han  the  pains  of  hell,"  says  Juvenal,  "  to  have  in  one's  breast 
a  witness  testifying  against  us  day  and  night."  **  It  is  this 
witness  whom  utilitarianism  tends  to  silence.  Thank  God, 
it  never  succeeds  altogether;  but  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
more  it  suborns  the  true  witness,  and  puts  in  its  stead  a  sophist 
who  exonerates  us,  the  more  does  it  enervate  the  moral  life 
and  render  it  powerless. 

We  said  in  the  fourth  place,  that  obligation,  just  because  it 
is  obligation,  manifests  itself  to  us  in  our  consciousness  as  pre- 
ceding and  governing  experience.  It  would  lose  its  character 
of  law  if  it  were  regarded  as  the  result  of  experience.  If  it  is 
simply  the  sum  total  of  a  long  list  of  experiences  as  to  the  utility 
of  certain  things  in  relation  to  ourselves,  it  has  no  right  to 
command  us ;  for  none  of  these  experiences  amounts  to  a  law, 
and  the  totality  cannot  differ  from  the  units.  From  an  accu- 
mulation of  experiments  in  utility,  we  learn  only  what  is  useful, 
not  what  is  our  duty.  It  is  undeniable  that  duty  presents  itself 
in  an  altogether  different  light.  We  are  perfectly  able  to  dis- 
tinguish between  duty  and  utility,  for  in  our  present  condition, 
questions  of  utility  and  questions  of  duty  constantly  come 
before  us,  and  we  answer  them  in  altogether  different  ways. 
We  so  little  confound  them  that  there  is  often  a  conflict 

1  "  Prima  et  maxima  peccantium  poena  est  peccasse  .  .  .  Hie  con- 
sentiamus  mala  facinora  conscientia  flagellari  et  plurimum  illi  tormen- 
torum  esse  eo  quod  perpetua  illam  sollicitudo  urget  ac  verberat." — Sen., 
Epistola  xcvii. 

8  "  Poena  autem  vehemens  ac  multo  saevior  illis 
Quas     .     .     .     invenit  aut  Rhadamantus, 
Nocte  dieque  suum  gestare  in  pectore  testem." 

—Juvenal,  Sat.  XIII.  196-198. 


PRINCIPLE  AND   ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY.  389 

between  duty  and  expediency,  and  we  have  to  decide  every 
time  which  shall  carry  the  day.  It  is  inexact  then  to  assert 
that  duty  is  a  transformation  of  utility,  since  the  two  coexist 
and  may  corne  into  collision.  Duty  is  something  quite  differ- 
ent from,  and  we  venture  to  say  altogether  higher  than,  utility. 
Now,  as  we  have  already  said  more  than  once,  evolution  can 
produce  nothing  new.  It  brings  out  that  which  existed  before, 
it  has  no  power  of  its  own  to  add  to  it.  Either  the  new  element 
has  been  added,  or  it  existed  before  in  a  virtual  state,  and 
cannot  be  referred  to  evolution.  This  is  true  of  duty,  as  of 
the  appearance  of  life  and  the  production  of  mind  in  the  chain 
of  existence.  Now,  the  human  ego  is  conscious  of  these  two 
distinct  things — utility  and  duty,  and  it  cannot  confound  them 
without  doing  violence  to  the  facts.  We  must  observe,  more- 
over, that  actual  experience  is  far  from  showing  a  uniform 
coincidence  between  the  facts  of  obligation  and  of  utility.  To 
judge  of  things  only  by  what  passes  before  our  eyes,  we  witness 
one  long  conflict  between  proximate  interests  and  moral  obli- 
gation, a  conflict  which  frequently  seems  doubtful  and  in  which 
the  defeats  are  many.  I  know  indeed  that  if  we  embrace  in 
our  view  great  periods  of  history,  we  shall  find  justice  triumphant 
in  the  end ;  but  even  then  only  partially  so,  and  at  the  cost  of 
countless  heavy  sacrifices,  for  which  there  is  no  compensation 
upon  earth.  And  we  know  all  the  time  that  the  conflict,  with  all 
its  vicissitudes,  will  begin  again  on  the  morrow.  The  present, 
from  which  we  derive  our  most  direct  experiences,  those  which 
most  deeply  impress  our  inward  sense,  never  perfectly  har- 
monises utility  with  justice.  Often  in  view  of  the  insolent 
triumph  of  wrong  and  ill-deserved  success,  we  experience  a 
perplexity  which  makes  even  good  men  sometimes  speak 
rashly  in  their  haste,  and  fosters  that  poor  sort  of  resignation, 
so  much  in  vogue  at  present,  to  what  is  called  the  irony  of 
fate  and  the  hollowness  of  life.  The  morality  of  duty  is  not, 
then,  the  result  of  experience.  If  it  was  not  intuitive,  it 
would  have  no  existence  at  all.  The  senses  only  give  their 


390  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

own  philosophy,  by  which  I  mean  pure  materialism  with  its 
utilitarian  morality. 

Stuart  Mill  and  Herbert  Spencer  attempt  to  supply  the 
place  of  the  categorical  imperative  by  the  influence  of  social 
environment,  which  establishes  a  harmony  between  our  private 
interest  and  the  general  interest ;  but  this  social  environment 
is  itself  a  result  of  that  harmony,  it  can  only  have  arisen  after 
that  harmony  was  already  manifested  and  co-ordinated.  We 
are  again  in  a  vicious  circle. 

If  we  interrogate  our  inward  moral  sense  as  to  the  character 
of  obligation,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  a  veritable  command,  an 
imperative ;  that  it  conveys  the  absolute  conviction  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  evil  and  such  a  thing  as  good.  Doubtless 
ignorance  and  error  influence  our  moral  judgments  and  falsify 
their  application  ;  but  there  remains  always  the  principle  which 
distinguishes  between  good  actions  and  bad,  and  the  full  per- 
suasion that  this  distinctive  principle  does  not  depend  on 
changes  of  environment  or  on  times  and  circumstances.  Now, 
nothing  could  be  more  directly  opposed  to  the  evolutionist 
idea  of  conduct,  which  represents  it  as  nothing  but  a  relation 
established  between  man  and  his  environment,  a  mere  adapta- 
tion, than  this  idea  of  the  imperative  resulting  from  the  simple 
word,  duty.  The  idea  of  adaptation  can  never  be  identified 
with  that  of  obligation.  The  former  gives  us  a  sort  of  sliding 
scale  ;  the  latter,  a  rule,  a  law.  According  to  Herbert  Spencer, 
we  can  speak  of  the  conduct  of  our  organs  and  functions,  of 
the  conduct  of  a  star,  of  a  vegetable  or  an  animal,  because 
in  all  stages  of  existence  there  is  adaptation  of  the  existence 
to  its  environment.  The  conduct  of  man  is  subject  to  the 
same  condition.  If  the  morality  of  to-day  consists  in  falling 
in  with  the  admirable  co-ordination  of  the  particular  interests 
of  a  society  so  complex  as  modern  civilisation,  we  cannot 
forget  that  the  morality  of  yesterday  sanctioned  violence  and 
craft ;  and  to-morrow  the  ever  flexible  line  of  conduct  may 
have  taken  a  new  direction.  There  is,  in  this  notion  of 


PRINCIPLE    AND   ORIGIN  OF  MORALITY.  391 

morality,  a  complete  confounding  of  the  variable  applications 
of  the  moral  principle  which  depend  on  the  progress  of  intel- 
ligence, with  the  principle  itself.  It  is  possible  to  deduce 
wrong  conclusions  from  it ;  but  there  never  was  a  time  when 
it  did  not  present  itself  as  an  obligation  rendering  imperative 
that  which  men  believed  to  be  good  and  prohibiting  that  which 
seemed  to  them  evil.  If  we  went  deep  enough  into  things, 
we  should  find  lhat  even  in  the  most  barbarous  ages  duty  was 
recognised  as  something  different  from  pure  selfishness,  and 
that  it  implied  a  certain  sort  of  justice  and  self-devotion. 

However  this  may  be,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  the  moral- 
ity of  adaptation  or  of  mere  outward  conduct  grossly  offends 
the  inward  moral  sense.  This  is  so  true  that  we  find  duty 
constantly  requiring  us  to  break  with  our  social  environment, 
rise  above  it,  and  run  counter  to  it.  The  grandest  passages 
in  history  have  been  sublime  anticipations  of  truths  after- 
wards to  be  fully  revealed,  and  hence  the  pioneers  of  progress 
have  often  fallen  victims.  Neither  Socrates  nor  Christ  adapted 
himself  to  his  social  environment  in  opening  up  the  way  of 
moral  progress ;  therefore  the  one  drank  the  hemlock  and  the 
other  was  crucified. 

That  which  is  fatal,  as  it  seems  to  us,  to  Herbert  Spencer's 
whole  theory  as  to  conduct  and  the  constant  adaptation  of 
existences  to  their  environment,  as  applied  to  humanity,  is 
the  fact  that  humanity  never  maintains  a  fixed  correspondence 
between  its  stage  of  evolution  and  its  intellectual  development. 
]f  evolutionism  were  true,  if  man  developed  psychologically  in 
his  moral  and  physical  nature  in  accordance  with  the  principle 
of  the  conservation  and  transformation  of  energy,  every  stage 
of  evolution  reached  should  be  permanent,  there  should  be  no 
possibility  of  retrogression  ;  for  progress  having  been  produced 
necessarily  by  the  operation  of  the  laws  which  govern  the 
universal  mechanism,  and  by  virtue  of  which  man's  brain  is 
modified  coincidently  with  his  mind  (mind  being  after  all  only 
a  function  of  the  cerebral  organ),  we  fail  to  conceive  why  a 


3^2  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

generation,  or  a  whole  people,  having  attained  a  fresh  stage  of 
evolution,  should  not  invariably  remain  there  till  it  was  pre- 
pared for  a  yet  higher  stage.  The  adaptation  has  been  spon- 
taneous, the  human  agents  have  been  only  its  passive  instru- 
ments. How  comes  it  then  that  they  are  constantly  retro- 
grading, and  that  their  conduct  is  so  habitually  at  variance 
with  their  social  environment?  In  our  day,  this  social 
environment,  in  accordance  with  the  law  which  resolves  the 
homogeneous  into  the  heterogeneous,  and  the  heterogeneous 
into  the  complex  and  definite,  is  something  immeasurably 
above  self-asserting  individualism.  We  are  assured  that  we 
have  arrived  at  the  period  of  altruism,  which  subordinates 
the  interests  of  each  to  the  interests  of  all ;  and  yet  every 
day  we  see  individual  interest  insolently  asserting  itself  and 
imperilling  the  social  community.  Whence  these  falls,  these 
retrogressions  ?  How  can  we  explain  the  sorrowful  saying, 
so  often  verified  by  experience,  "Video  meliora,  deteriora 
sequor  "  ?  Let  it  be  observed  that  these  falls  are  not  the  fault 
of  a  few  individuals,  that  there  are  whole  generations  and 
nations  which  fall  back  under  the  dominion  of  sheer  selfish- 
ness and  violence.  We  recall  the  witty  saying  applied  in  the 
last  century  to  the  collective  error  of  a  great  department  of 
State,  "One  horse  may  stumble,  we  allow;  but  a  whole  stable- 
ful  at  once — ! "  Such  repeatedly  recurring  alternations  of 
advance  and  retrogression  in  the  moral  history  of  mankind, 
are  surely  a  proof  that  conduct  is  not  with  man,  as  with  the 
mineral,  vegetable,  or  animal,  a  mere  necessary  and  inevit- 
able adaptation,  but  something  in  which  his  will  comes  into 
play.  Determinism  renders  these  fluctuations  altogether  inex- 
plicable. 

It  is  equally  opposed  to  that  education  of  the  conduct  which 
the  English  psychologists  admit.  They  seem  to  hold  it  possible 
to  influence  the  destiny  of  a  man  and  of  a  nation  by  strength- 
ening the  action  of  certain  motive  forces,  that  is  by  the  intel- 
ligent organisation  of  the  social  environment.  We  confess 


DETERMINISM  AND  FREE-WILL.  393 

that  we  do  not  understand  how  human  intelligence  can  act 
upon  this  vast  mechanism,  of  which  it  is  merely  one  of  the 
wheels.  It  may  gradually  come  to  work  more  smoothly  by 
friction,  after  the  manner  of  machinery,  but  it  can  have  no 
power  to  change  its  nature  in  a  world  wholly  subject  to  the 
inflexible  laws  of  motion.1 


III.  DETERMINISM  AND  FREE-WILL. 

We  are  thus  brought  to  the  essential  principle  of  utilita- 
rian morality,  which  is  determinism.  If  it  is  true,  then  the 
morality  of  obligation  must  succumb ;  we  must  give  it  up. 
It  is  time  to  deal  directly  with  this  negation  of  free-will, 
which  is  held  to  be  the  most  indisputable  result  of  science. 
We  begin  by  roundly  averring  that  even  if  it  were  true  that 
science  pointed  to  determinism  as  its  conclusion,  the  well- 
established  fact  of  conscience  would  still  presuppose  and 
imply  free-will.  Take  away  freedom  of  action,  and  you  take 
away  duty  and  responsibility;  we  can  no  more  sit  in 
judgment  upon  ourselves,  there  can  be  no  remorse,  no  any- 
thing. Now,  these  things  are  great  realities,  great  facts. 
What  right  have  we  to  cancel  them,  and  to  affirm  that  the 
authority  of  experience  is  to  be  allowed  in  the  physical,  and 
denied  in  the  moral  world  ?  For  our  own  part,  our  choice  is 
made,  and  we  would  rather  join  with  Kant  in  reducing  to  the 

1  Beside  the  works  already  quoted,  see  "  Le  Devoir,"  by  Jules  Simon, 
"La  Science  et  la  Conscience,"  by  Vacherot;  and,  on  the  other  side, 
"La  Physiologic  des  Passions,"  Letourneau.  The  objections  of  the  ex- 
treme school  of  materialists  to  free-will,  are  there  represented.  M.  Georges 
Renard's  witty  little  work,  "  L'homme,  est-il  libre  ?  "  gives  a  sharp  point  to 
all  these  objections.  "  La  Physiologic  et  la  Volonte,"  by  A.  Herzen,  at- 
tempts to  give  to  determinism  a  psychological  basis  in  harmony  with  the 
most  absolute  monism,  which  unhesitatingly  evolves  life  and  mind  from 
the  organic  world  and  recognises  only  reflex  action.  All  the  science  and 
talent  of  the  author  fail  to  render  this  evolution  more  comprehensible  than 
the  theories  of  mechanical  transfonnism  which  we  have  already  refuted. 


394  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

phenomenal  everything  that  is  not  consciousness,  than  abandon 
it.  We  are  not  obliged  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  the  world 
as  science  depicts  it ;  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  placed  under 
the  authority  of  moral  truth,  the  dominion  of  the  categorical 
imperative,  the  most  legitimate  of  all  rule  and  authority.1 
Happily  we  are  not  driven  to  this  extremity.  For,  first,  de- 
terminism cannot  be  the  result  of  an  adequate  induction,  since 
we  do  not  know  the  whole  universe  of  things.  Our  obser- 
vation only  takes  in  a  corner  of  the  universe.  Besides,  as  we 
have  already  remarked,  we  may  admit  the  principle  of  the 
conservation  of  energy,  and  yet,  by  the  distinction  of  quality 
and  quantity,  allow  a  share  to  human  action  in  impressing 
certain  qualifications  on  this  abstract  substance,  which  does 
not  really  live  till  it  has  received  its  form,  for  till  then  it  is 
merely  in  a  virtual  state  and  admits  of  all  possibilities.  The 
muscles  of  a  murderer  expend  the  same  quantity  of  motion  and 
of  heat  as  those  of  a  hero,  and  yet  the  action  produced  is  alto- 
gether different.  If  it  is  true,  as  Aristotle  says,  that  the  formal 
and  final  cause  which  raises  an  existence  from  the  possible 
to  the  actual,  by  fashioning  it  and  giving  it  its  characteristic 
form,  must  be  eternally  actual  and  living,  or  everything  would 
remain  in  a  state  of  virtuality  (for  virtuality  alone,  without  a 
primary  motor,  will  never  become  reality),  the  primary  motor 
cannot  be  identified  with  pure  force,  pure  quantity ;  it  is  mind, 
thought  j  above  all,  it  is  will,  and  hence  the  ultimate  and 
highest  freedom.  It  is  to  this  essential  and  primordial  free- 
dom that  our  own  freedom  points  us,  for  the  effect  cannot  be 
greater  than  the  cause.  Its  cause  is  at  once  anterior  and 
superior  to  it,  and  possesses  in  fulness  that  which  it  has  par- 
tially communicated  to  the  effect. 

It  follows,  that  the  moral  order,  attested  by  conscience,  is 
vindicated  also  by  science,  when  science  does  not  confine  it- 
self to  abstract  being,  which  is  a  nonentity,  and  only  receives 

1  See  "Le  Principe  de  la  Morale,"  Charles  Secretan,  "Revue 
Philosophique,':  January,  1882. 


DETERMINISM  AND  FREE-WILL.  395 

a  true  and  definite  existence  from  the  sovereign  cause,  that 
eternal  energy  without  which  nothing  would  have  a  beginning. 

This  world  once  formed,  we  are  told,  must  be  subjected 
to  an  absolute  determinism,  for  this  is  the  first  condition  of 
science,  the  condition  without  which  any  serious  and  trust- 
worthy induction  would  be  impossible.  In  fact,  if  the  close- 
linked  chain  of  causes  and  effects  could  be  broken  at  one  point, 
inference  would  no  longer  be  possible,  since  we  could  never 
be  sure  of  an  unbroken  succession  of  links.  Without  insisting 
again  upon  the  moral  certainty  arising  out  of  the  categorical 
imperative,  as  primarily  binding  upon  us,  we  reply  that  science 
ought  to  be  broad  enough  to  embrace  different  spheres  of 
observation.  It  has  no  right  to  shut  itself  up  within  the 
sphere  of  sensible  and  mechanical  facts,  which,  as  we  hold, 
is  in  itself  inadequate,  since  life  and  sensation  are  not  to  be 
explained  by  pure  mechanism.  On  what  ground  does  it  deny 
the  sphere  of  moral  facts  in  which  liberty  asserts  itself?  It 
seems  to  us,  moreover,  that  nothing  is  less  scientific  than  to 
reject  intuition  as  a  process  of  knowledge ;  for  in  order  to 
enter  on  the  scientific  study  of  the  world,  we  must  start  from 
the  first  principles  which  constitute  the  reason,  or  we  shall 
never  be  able  to  arrive  at  a  deduction  or  formulate  a  law. 
To  accept  the  empirical  alone,  is  to  render  experience  im- 
possible, at  least  that  sort  of  experience  which  groups  manifold 
phenomena  under  certain  laws.  Empiricism  itself  begins  with 
intuitions.  The  famous  principle  of  the  conservation  of  energy 
is  an  axiom  ;  it  is  less  certain  than  others,  and  differs  from 
them  only  in  this.  By  what  right,  then,  can  we  ignore  in 
morality  the  intuition  which  makes  us  conscious  of  obligation 
and  liberty  as  the  first  principle,  the  central  axiom,  by  means 
of  which  knowledge  is  possible  in  this  domain  ?  We  thus 
deny  absolutely  that  there  is  any  necessary  conflict  between 
science  and  conscience. 

We  shall  not  dwell  long  on  the  objections  drawn  from  facts 
which  are  often  urged  against  free-will,  because  we  do  not  see 


396  THE  PROBLEM   OF  DUTY. 

that  nny  one  of  them  destroys  the  elementary  fact  of  conscience 
or  implies  that  it  has  no  existence.  The  feeling  of  obligation 
remains  a  direct  certainty,  and  man  and  society  act  in  ac- 
cordance with  it.  Society  would  be  at  an  end,  if  this  feeling 
were  banished  for  one  day,  one  hour.  The  attempts  made  to 
get  rid  of  it  and  to  reduce  it  to  mere  necessity,  fail  without  ex» 
ception,  since  the  resultant  of  all  the  combinations  of  fatalistic 
elements  into  which  it  is  resolved,  is  the  very  same  intuition 
of  duty,  the  certainty  of  responsibility.  The  analysis,  then, 
must  have  been  badly  made,  and  something  must  have  been 
added  which  the  parts  did  not  contain,  since  the  whole  is  in 
contradiction  with  the  parts.  And"  this  is  what  has  really 
been  done,  as  we  shall  see.  Determinism  adduces,  as  opposed 
to  liberty,  the  influence  of  desires  and  the  action  of  motives 
upon  our  determinations.  To  speak  first  of  desire.  This  has 
its  source  in  the  mobile  and  passive  region  of  sensibility,  where 
the  reactions  of  the  outer  world  are  produced  upon  the  soul. 
The  most  intense  desire,  we  are  told,  is  therefore  that  which 
most  influences  our  determinations.  As  the  wind  of  desire 
blows  from  the  east  or  west,  from  the  north  or  south,  the 
human  weathercock  turns  in  the  direction  in  which  the  wind 
impels  it.  It  may  indeed  fancy  that  it  directs  itself,  but  it 
is  a  mistake  ;  it  does  not  act,  it  is  acted  upon.  This  psy- 
chology is  false  and  superficial.  If  we  see  in  the  direction  of 
human  conduct  simply  the  influence  of  desire,  we  do  injustice 
to  the  soul.  Desire  has,  no  doubt,  a  very  real  influence  as  an 
impulse,  but  something  more  is  needed  for  action  ;  there  must 
be  an  effort,  a  putting  forth  of  the  will.  This  effort  may  be 
in  the  direction  of  desire,  but  it  may  not.  There  is  a  constant 
conflict  between  will  and  desire,  and  the  will  never  shows  itself 
stronger  than  when  it  controls  or  resists  desire.  It  cannot  be 
said  that  in  this  case  the  conflict  is  only  between  two  contend- 
ing desires,  and  that  the  stronger  wins  the  day ;  for  in  order 
to  carry  out  the  determinist  theory,  desire  must  always  come 
from  the  outer  world  and  appeal  to  our  senses  and  sensibility. 


DETERMINISM  AND  FREE- WILL.  '  397 

To  resist  it  in  the  name  of  duty  and  of  the  moral  ideal,  is  to 
rise  above  the  lower  sphere  of  passivity.  To  follow  desire,  is 
to  live  an  animal  life.  To  choose  between  our  desires,  to  con- 
trol them,  to  prove  by  effort  the  reality  of  the  will,  is  to  act  like 
men.1  It  follows  that  it  is  false  that  liberty  resolves  itself  into 
desire.  The  same  answer  applies  to  the  motives  and  motors 
of  our  conduct.  It  does  not  follow,  because  our  decision  is 
enlightened  and  takes  account  of  the  motives  which  incline 
it  to  a  certain  course,  that  the  will  is  of  fatal  necessity 
determined  by  these  motives.  This  is  proved  by  the  fact 
that  the  same  motives,  in  identical  cases,  constantly  determine 
the  action  in  different  ways.  One  day,  their  influence  per- 
suades us  to  make  a  reasonable  decision,  to  prefer  a  higher 
interest  to  a  lower  gratification;  another  day,  in  the  very  same 
circumstances,  higher  motives  have  been  outweighed  and  we 
have  yielded  to  our  lower  nature.  It  follows  that  they  are 
not  of  themselves  sufficient  to  determine  our  action,  and  that 
it  is  the  will  which  makes  them  effective  one  day  and  power- 
less the  next.2  Again,  in  order  thoroughly  to  appreciate  the 
motives  of  our  actions,  there  must  be  a  determination  of  the 
will ;  it  must  sincerely  prefer  the  good  impulse,  and  therefore 
impose  silence  on  the  evil  passion  which  obscures  even  the 
moral  sense.  I  also  am  a  sophist,  says  the  spirit  of  evil, 
the  greatest  of  all  sophists,  and  the  father  of  all.  Selfishness 
is  the  inventor  of  the  false  casuistry  which  is  common  to  all 
schools,  religious  or  secular,  and  which  shows  itself  so  fatally 
skilful  in  distorting  the  moral  law  and  falsifying  its  applica- 
tion. Sometimes  casting  off  all  disguise,  it  speaks  the  gross 

1  See  the  discussion  of  this  point  in  M.  Janet's  "Psychologic,"  chap.  iii. 

2  MM.  Renard  and  Herzen  constantly  identify  the  act  done  under  the  in- 
fluence of  motives  with  a  purely  necessary  act,  as  if  free-will  were  blind,  as  if 
the  motive  which  determines  it  did  not  owe  to  it  more  than  it  gives,  namely, 
its  determining  power,  since  the  same  motive  may  have  different  effects  in 
the  same  circumstances  as  the  result  of  our  determinations.    They  admit  no 
other  liberty  than  conscious  action.     But  the  consciousness  which  I  have  of 
my  act  does  not  make  it  free,  since  I  may  be  conscious  of  constraint. 


398  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY, 

language  of  appetite,  and  repeats  the  formula  of  every  Epi- 
curean school :  "  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die." 
The  pure  light  of  morality  is  only  seen  by  those  who  wish 
to  see  it,  and  whoever  takes  pleasure  in  evil  wraps  him- 
self in  clouds  of  wilful  darkness.  When  once  its  legitimate 
part  has  been  assigned  to  free-will,  motives,  so  far  from 
conflicting  with  it,  aid  it ;  for  the  more  enlightened  and  in- 
telligent a  decision  is,  the  more  does  it  escape  blind  force. 

Let  us  not  forget,  moreover,  that  liberty  fully  explained 
ceases  to  be  liberty ;  it  is  essentially  a  mystery  belonging  to 
the  ego.  We  may  say  of  motives  what  Leibnitz  says  of  the 
planets  :  perturbing,  not  determining.  We  are  then  justified  in 
concluding  with  Aristotle,  that  a  man  is  the  father  of  his 
actions  as  he  is  of  his  children.  This  is  confirmed  by  the 
conduct  of  all  men  and  by  the  testimony  of  legislators.  They 
punish  and  chastise  those  who  commit  guilty  acts  whenever 
those  acts  are  not  the  result  of  constraint  or  of  an  ignorance 
of  which  the  agent  was  not  the  cause.  It  is  no  less  un- 
reasonable to  pretend  that  he  who  does  wrong  does  not  will 
to  become  wicked.  We  never  reproach  a  person  with  a 
natural  deformity,  but  we  do  blame  those  who  have  become 
thus  deformed  through  want  of  proper  care  and  exercise. 
Who  would  reproach  a  man  born  blind  ?  But  every  one  justly 
reproaches  one  who  becomes  blind  through  habits  of  drun- 
kenness or  any  other  vice.1 

If  in  controversion  of  man's  freedom  we  are  reminded  of  the 
network  of  solidarity  which  is  around  us  all,  we  reply  that  we 
have  never  asserted  that  the  liberty  of  the  individual  was  ab- 
solute, that  it  had  no  limitations,  either  in  his  own  organism 
or  in  that  larger  organism  which  we  call  society.  The  question 
is,  whether  these  limitations  tend  to  the  suppression  of  man's 
freedom,  whether  they  do  not  leave  him  scope  enough  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  moral  principle  and  of  the  sense  of  ob- 
ligation. We  admit  that  we  are  bom  with  a  certain  physical 
1  «'  Ethics,"  Aristotle,  Book  III.  8. 


DETERMINISM  AND  FREE-WILL.  399 

temperament,  certain  intellectual  and  moral  dispositions, 
which  are  the  first  lineaments  of  our  character ;  that  the 
social  environment  in  which  we  grow  up  brings  to  us  a  con- 
tingent composed  entirely  of  ideas  and  influences  derived  from 
the  nation,  from  the  family,  and  from  religion.  That  which 
has  to  be  proved  is,  that  these  various  influences  which  are 
exerted  upon  us  suffice  to  determine  of  necessity  our  ego,  our 
moral  life.  This  is  what  we  think  cannot  be  proved.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  unless  we  deny  the  solidarity  of  mankind, 
which  is  equivalent  to  denying  humanity  altogether,  we  must 
admit  that  nothing  is  easier  to  understand  than  the  influence 
of  one  kind  of  liberty  upon  another.  Now,  this  social  environ- 
ment, into  which  we^  are  introduced  by  birth,  with  its  special 
characteristics  of  religious  and  intellectual  development,  has 
been  formed  in  the  past  by  powerful  individualities,  which 
have  only  modified  it  by  rising  above  their  age.  The  great 
difference  between  nations  in  which  healthy  political  and 
religious  revolutions  have  occurred,  and  those  which  have  stuck 
fast  in  the  rut  of  superannuated  traditions,  is  due  to  the 
appearance  of  powerful  pioneers  who  have  prepared  the  way 
of  progress  by  a  supreme  act  of  liberty.  We  may  say  then 
that  the  fatalism  of  to-day,  in  so  far  as  it  exists  at  all,  is  the 
freedom  of  yesterday.  It  is  the  same  with  our  moral  tempera- 
ment ;  that  which  we  have  received  is  the  product  of  a  certain 
direction  in  the  life  of  our  forefathers.  Our  heritage  of  good 
or  ill  is  due  to  free  acts  of  theirs.  So  is  it  also  with  our 
physical  constitution,  the  elements  of  which  are  in  great  part 
determined  by  the  way  in  which  our  ancestors  lived,  and  also 
by  the  greater  or  less  skill  in  labour  of  the  generations  pre- 
ceding theirs,  by  which  the  spot  of  earth  which  they  inhabited 
was  modified.  As  to  the  influences  exerted  upon  us  by  our 
companions  in  life,  these  are  only  manifestations  of  their  moral 
life.  Lastly,  if  our  particular  acts  are  in  accordance  with  those 
general  tendencies  of  our  individuality  which  we  call  our 
character,  we  must  acknowledge  that  we  have  to  a  great 


400  THE  PRO  BLEAT  OF  DUTY. 

extent  formed  our  character,  little  by  little,  by  the  direction  we 
have  given  to  our  life.  Our  acts  of  to-day  may  seem  to  us  more 
or  less  determined  by  our  character ;  but  this  determining 
principle  we  ourselves  have  formed  and  strengthened.  That 
which  now  seems  nature  to  us,  was  once  a  matter  of  choice. 
None  of  the  social  influences  brought  to  bear  upon  us  amount 
to  a  constraint  imposed  on  the  will;  they  do  not  crush  it  in 
the  revolution  of  their  wheels.  On  the  one  hand,  our  inward 
moral  sense  directly  charges  us  with  the  wrong  done,  and 
insists  on  our  responsibility  ;  no  extenuating  circumstances 
silence  the  verdict  of  conscience.  On  the  other  hand,  moral 
regeneration,  amendment,  is  an  experimental  fact,  and  it  can 
only  be  possible  if  the  character,  the  temperament,  and  environ- 
ment do  not  constitute  an  irresistible  fatality.  It  is  an  ad- 
mitted fact,  moreover,  that  great  moral  reforms  overcome  all 
antecedent  influences,  and  break  the  iron  bonds  of  custom. 
We  do  not  mean  to  deny  that  solidarity  bears  part  of  the 
responsibility,  so  that  the  burden  does  not  rest  exclusively 
upon  each  individual.  We  are  not  only  the  parents  of  our 
own  actions,  but  also  of  those  of  our  fellows,  and  this  to  a 
degree  which  we  cannot  measure,  for  our  influence  outlives 
us.  A  solemn  and  salutary  thought  this,  which,  so  far  from 
lessening  moral  obligation,  gives  it  a  boundless  sphere ;  for 
that  which  seems  to  exonerate  us  by  laying  the  blame  on  our 
forefathers,  at  the  same  time  charges  us  with  having  helped 
in  our  measure  to  swell  the  current  of  wrong,  to  diffuse  through 
the  atmosphere  of  our  own  day  influences  harmful  to  others. 
In  any  case,  none  of  these  objections  touch  the  great  fact 
of  moral  intuition,  that  categorical  imperative  which  suffers 
no  diminution  by  any  of  our  defeats  or  partial  apologies.1 

1  Renard  and  Herzen  are  altogether  untrue  to  the  logic  of  their  sys- 
tem, when  they  assert  that  we  cau  ameliorate  our  conduct  by  ameliorat- 
ing the  general  conditions  of  existence,  or  by  recognising  the  true  laws  of 
our  organisation.  They  will  never  be  able  to  explain  how  I  can  change 
anything  to  anything  else,  and  still  less  how  I  can  have  in  certain  cases 
that  consciousness  that  I  am  failing  to  fulfil  my  destiny  which  both  admit. 


DETERMINISM  AND  FREE- WILL.  401 

The  bond  which  links  the  present  to  the  past,"  says  M. 
Marion,  in  his  book  on  solidarity,  "  undoubtedly  restricts 
individual  liberty  so  as  to  leave  it  little  scope  ;  but  what 
does  this  signify  ?  If  only  it  is  not  stifled,  if  it  still  sub- 
sists, it  can  gradually  enfranchise  itself  from  determinism 
once  recognised,  and  make  it  entirely  subordinate  to  moral 
progress.1 

The  statistical  objections  raised  against  man's  moral  free- 
dom, on  the  ground  that  we  have  year  by  year  the  same 
number  of  crimes,  classed  under  the  same  heads,  are  not 
sustained  by  such  an  absolute  uniformity  of  evidence  as 
would  argue  the  operation  of  an  inevitable  law.  The  larger 
the  field  of  statistics,  the  more  does  individual  liberty  assert 
itself.  We  admit  that,  given  the  moral  status  of  a  generation 
as  determined  by  the  influence  of  preceding  generations,  that 
status  would,  on  the  principle  of  solidarity,  produce,  so  long 
as  it  was  not  modified,  similar  and  calculable  effects.  Again, 
indulgence  in  crime  has  the  influence  of  lessening,  and  some- 
times of  destroying,  freedom  of  action.  M.  Victor  Egger, 
in  his  book,  "  La  Parole  Inte'rieure,"  says  :  "  When  we  are 
told  that  the  statistical  method  enables  us  to  predict  the 
number  of  murders,  thefts,  suicides,  marriages,  it  simply  means 
that  they  can  be  predicted  approximately  and  in  the  mass; 
but  in  true  qualitative  knowledge,  nothing  is  determined  ap- 
proximately and  in  the  mass.  It  is,  then,  an  illusion  to  think 
that,  because  mathematical  processes  are  used,  mathematical 
certainty  is  attained.  Figures  are  instruments  at  once  too 
rough  and  too  feeble  to  penetrate  far  into  the  complicated 
and  many-sided  nature  of  these  biological,  moral,  and  socio- 
logical phenomena.  With  all  its  seeming  precision,  the 

On  the  determinist  system,  I  must  be  fulfilling  my  destiny  by  such  failure, 
for  the  failure  itself  must  be  predetermined.  How  can  Herzen  say  that 
the  man  is  immoral  who  acts  in  opposition  to  his  particular  truth? 

1  "  De  la  Solidarite  Morale,"  Marion,  p.  295.  This  book  deserves  a 
thoughtful  study. 

D   D 


402  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

statistical  method  is  superficial ;  it  can  only  give  us  quantity, 
and  in  this  case  that  is  very  little  if  obtained  at  the  expense  of 
quality." 

The  objections  against  freedom  of  action  founded  on  he- 
redity have  been  recently  urged  with  great  force  in  M.  Ribot's 
book  on  the  subject.  Without  pronouncing  a  decided 
opinion  on  the  possibility  of  harmonising  heredity  with 
liberty,  M.  Ribot  makes  us  on  every  page  anticipate  his 
conclusion,  namely,  that  "  heredity  is  one  of  the  many  in- 
flexible links  by  which  all-powerful  nature  keeps  us  bound 
by  necessity."1  He  could  arrive  at  no  other  conclusion, 
taking,  as  he  does,  Herbert  Spencer's  monistic  transformism 
as  his  starting-point.  Nevertheless,  the  full,  luminous,  and 
frankly  impartial  summary  of  psychological  and  physiological 
facts  which  he  gives,  does  not  at  all  lead  us  to  the  same  con- 
clusion. In  the  first  place,  M.  Ribot  owns  that  the  law  of 
heredity  is  liable  to  many  exceptions;  he  argues  that  these 
only  prove  the  rule,  but  they  certainly  prove  that  it  is  not 
of  an  absolute  character.  He  frankly  admits  that  the  rule 
repeatedly  breaks  down  in  individual  cases.  After  asserting 
that  heredity  is  certainly  a  law  determining  the  character  of 
the  species  and  of  the  race,  he  assigns  to  it  only  a  relatively 
slight  value  in  its  application  to  individual  character.2  It 
follows,  that  the  nearer  we  come  to  the  moral  personality,  the 
less  fixity  the  law  of  heredity  has ;  which  amounts  to  saying 
that  the  sphere  of  liberty  broadens  as  individuality  becomes 
more  pronounced.  All  we  ask  is,  that  heredity  should  be  ad- 
mitted to  be  inadequate  as  an  explanation  of  the  definitive 
formation  of  individuality,  so  that  liberty  may  remain  possible. 
We  know  why  this  possibility  is  a  reality  to  us.  M.  Ribot 
himself  acknowledges  that  the  hereditary  transmission  of  in- 
tellectual faculties  is  in  inverse  ratio  to  their  originality  and 
power. 

As  to  the  share  of  determinism  which  results  from  heredity, 
1  "  De  1'Heredite."  Ribot.  2  Ibid.,  p.  167. 


DETERMINISM  AND  FREE-WILL.  403 

and  which  makes  our  natural,  historical,  national,  and  family 
environment  act  powerfully  upon  our  temperament,  our  pre- 
dispositions, our  life  in  every  sense,  we  have  already  said 
to  how  large  an  extent  we  admit  it.  We  do  not  think,  any 
more  than  M.  Ribot,  that  man  comes  into  the  world  like  a 
statue,  created  all  out  of  one  block  and  void  of  impressions. 
We  admit  that  all  past  ages  have  contributed  to  form  the 
individual.  This  is  the  very  law  of  solidarity ;  but  we  must 
bear  in  mind  two  things :  first,  that  this  great  past  is  itself,  in 
large  measure,  the  result  of  human  freedom,  which  has  done 
so  much  to  create  our  historical  environment ;  and  next,  that 
this  solidarity  does  not  prevent  the  play  of  individual  freedom, 
without  which  history  would  be  a  monotonous  deduction,  and 
could  not  have  those  ever  recurring  new  beginnings  which  help 
on  progress.  M.  Marion's  book  on  Solidarity  is  the  necessary 
complement  of  M.  Ribot's  on  Heredity.1 

None  of  the  objections  which  we  have  just  examined  avails 
to  destroy  the  fact  of  conscience.  An  eminent  French  philo- 
sopher of  the  new  generation  who  has  cast  off  the  traditions 
of  eclecticism — M.  Fouillee— admits  moral  intuition,  but  simply 
as  an  idea  or  ideal.  In  this  sense,  he  says,  it  influences  our 
conduct,  without,  however,  possessing  any  objective  reality. 
Determinism,  we  are  told,  is  the  law  of  things  for  reasons 
which  M.  Fouillee  accepts  without  going  into  them  or  sus- 
taining them  by  fresh  arguments.  He  allows  nevertheless 
that  the  idea  of  liberty  exists,  and  it  is  enough  that  it  be  in  us 
to  act  like  leaven  on  our  whole  moral  nature.  We  have  thus 
a  morality  of  persuasion  substituted  for  the  morality  of  obliga- 
tion.2 How  is  it  the  author  does  not  see  that  this  morality 
of  persuasion  will  cease  to  persuade  any  one,  the  moment  it 
is  understood  that  the  idea  of  freedom  is  an  illusion,  and  that 
determinism  alone  is  true  from  his  point  of  view?  Whoever 

1  "  De  1'Hcredite,"  Ribot,  p.  272. 

8  See  *'  La  Liberte  et  le  Dcteumnisme,"  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes," 
May  15,  1881. 


404  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

lets  out  this  fatal  secret  should  be  considered  a  public  malefac- 
tor. Conscience  has  henceforth  no  more  mortal  adversary  than 
science ;  and  human  society  must  succumb  before  this  fatal 
contradiction.  Will  M.  Fouille'e  tell  us  whence  comes  the  idea 
of  liberty  in  our  mind,  which  has  no  corresponding  reality  ? 
It  appears  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  the  inflexible  chain  of 
determinism,  uncalled-for  by  any  of  its  antecedents,  which  are 
all  contrary  to  it.  As  inexplicable  as  liberty  itself,  breaking 
abruptly  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  it  presents  the  further 
anomaly  of  being  based  upon  a  pure  negation.  It  is  a  shadow 
projected  without  any  substance.  For  ourselves,  it  seems  rea- 
sonable, on  the  ground  of  the  principle  of  causation,  to  refer 
the  idea  of  liberty — a  living,  and  operating  idea,  as  M.  Fouille'e 
himself  allows — to  a  corresponding  cause,  which,  since  it  cannot 
be  found  in  purely  natural  determinism,  must  be  sought  higher. 
M.  Fouillee  objects  that  it  is  impossible  to  deduce  liberty  from 
our  inward  sense;  first,  because  we  cannot  be  instructed  by 
it  as  to  what  is  passing  within  us,  and  it  would  require 
universal  knowledge  to  assure  us  that  we  do  not  form  part 
of  a  whole,  subject  to  the  inflexible  laws  of  determinism; 
and  next,  because  we  find  our  will  to  be  limited,  fettered, 
and  this  limitation  takes  away  from  it  all  reality.  This  two- 
fold objection  is  by  no  means  decisive.  It  matters  little  that 
I  have  not  a  consciousness  of  the  universe;  it  is  enough  for 
me  to  have  the  intuition  of  my  own  inner  life,  in  order  to 
know  that,  as  far  as  I  myself  am  concerned,  I  am  endowed 
with  will,  with  freedom.  I  am  only  a  thinking  and  willing 
reed  in  face  of  the  vast  universe ;  but  its  vastness  does  not 
prevent  my  thinking  and  willing,  and  consequently  I  learn 
enough  of  it  from  myself,  to  be  convinced  that  at  least  in  one 
sphere  of  tfte  universe  there  is  such  a  thing  as  liberty.  If 
my  conscience  tells  me  that  liberty  exists  in  order  that  I  may 
fulfil  the  law  of  my  being,  this  is  enough  to  make  me  hold  fast 
that  certainty.  The  attempt  to  identify  liberty  with  almighti- 
ness  is  equally  unsuccessful.  I  am  free  in  the  measure  in 


INDEPENDENT  MORALITY.  405 

which  I  can  carry  out  ray  will ;  but  this  does  not  imply  that 
I  can  will  or  do  everything.  My  conscience  reveals  to  me 
that  I  can  enter  into  relation  with  the  absolute,  but  that  I 
am  not  the  absolute  itself,  that  consequently  my  power  is  no 
more  unlimited  than  I  am  myself.  "I  feel  myself,"  as  M. 
Secre'tan  well  says,  "at  once  free  and  dependent;"  and  this  is 
why  the  feeling  of  obligation  does  not  terminate  in  myself,- but 
points  me  to  one  greater  than  I,  to  a  sovereign  will,  without 
which  the  sense  of  obligation  would  lose  itself  in  a  mere  abstrac- 
tion. I  am  thus  led  to  connect  morals  with  metaphysics  and 
with  religion,  and  to  maintain  that  it  is  idle  to  assert  for  mo- 
rality an  independence  at  once  futile  and  chimerical. 

IV.     INDEPENDENT  MORALITY. 

Independent  morality,  which  a  few  years  ago  called  forth 
much  discussion,  has,  we  admit,  one  aspect  of  truth.  We  ac- 
knowledge that  moral  certainty  is  far  better  founded  than  meta- 
physical certainty,  and  that  the  conscience  affirms  even  when 
science  doubts,  on  condition  always,  that  reason  has  not  sapped 
its  true  foundation  by  rejecting  those  first  principles  beyond 
which  we  cannot  go  ;  for  there  is  an  act  of  faith,  an  intuitive 
act,  at  the  basis  of  reason  itself.  Scepticism,  once  introduced 
into  this  domain,  passes  at  once  into  the  domain  of  morals. 
We  admit,  however,  that  even  when  the  principle  of  obligation 
has  been  theoretically  destroyed,  and  confounded  with  the 
search  after  pleasure  and  utility,  it  may  still  act  upon  the  life  by 
its  own  virtue  ;  human  nature  is  constantly  saved  by  its  incon- 
sistency. Nevertheless  this  contradiction  between  theory  and 
practice  is  not  without  its  dangers ;  and  when  it  asserts  itself, 
not  among  men  of  high  and  pure  soul,  but  in  the  servile  troop 
of  imitators,  it  is  sure  in  the  end  to  have  disastrous  effects  upon 
the  social  or  individual  life.  There  are  not  two  ways  of  being 
an  honest  man,  but  there  are  various  ways  of  apprehending  and 
defining  the  idea  of  honesty.  There  are  some  who,  when  they 


406  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

begin  by  theoretical  misconceptions  of  truth,  end  by  falsifying 
it  in  practice.  Who  will  dare  to  affirm  that  Epicurus  was  as 
good  a  master  as  Plato  in  the  art  of  living  and  dying  well? 
However  this  may  be,  it  cannot  reasonably  be  admitted  that  in 
building  up  the  theory  of  morality,  the  foundations  are  of  small 
moment.  It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  to  push  to  an  absurd  length 
the  connexion  between  morals  and  metaphysics,  and  to  main- 
tain that  morality  cannot  subsist  without  a  full  and  detailed 
system  of  doctrine,  forgetting  that  it  is  just  because  of  such 
religious  and  metaphysical  dogmatism  that  the  clouds  hang  so 
heavily  over  the  human  mind.  In  regard  to  such  problems  it 
is  only  given  it  to  "see  as  in  a  glass  darkly,"  according  to  the 
expression  of  the  most  dogmatic  of  the  apostles  of  primitive 
Christianity.  But  speaking  broadly,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
our  general  conceptions,  which  are  always  coloured  by  meta- 
physics, directly  influence  our  conception  of  morality,  of  the 
extent  and  nature  of  our  obligations.  Is  it  not  evident,  for 
example,  that  evolutionism,  which  admits  only  the  principle  of 
the  conservation  of  energy,  will  lead  to  a  conception  of  morality 
altogether  different  from  that  of  the  spiritualist  ?  The  morality 
of  utility  is  joined  to  the  philosophy  of  sensation,  as  a  fruit  to 
the  tree  that  bears  it.  The  morality  of  duty  proceeds  from  be- 
lief in  the  world  of  mind  and  of  the  divine,  as  a  consequence 
of  its  principle,  though  the  sequence  may  elude  the  mere 
thinker.  It  is  not  possible  to  restrict  this  dependence  of  mo- 
rality on  the  general  conception  of  things  to  mere  metaphys- 
ics, refusing  to  recognise  the  influence  of  religious  thought. 
This,  however,  is  what  M.  Fouillee  attempts  when,  in  a  lucid 
discussion  of  the  question,  he  shows  that  by  the  very  fact  that 
morality  occupies  itself  with  the  purpose  of  man's  life,  with 
his  capacity  to  realise  it,  and  with  the  nature  of  the  good 
which  he  seeks,  ever  subordinating  the  lower  to  the  higher 
good,  it  is  led  into  the  sphere  of  metaphysics.1  After  acknow- 
ledging that  morality  cannot  be  independent  of  the  solution 
1  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  January  I,  iSSi. 


INDEPENDENT  MORALITY.  40; 

given  to  these  great  problems,  he  divorces  it  completely  from 
religion,  which  he  regards  as  pure  illusion,  a  projection  out- 
side of  ourselves  of  the  fundamental  ideas  of  our  consciousness. 

• 

M.  Fouillee  will  not  deny,  at  any  rate,  that  the  rejection  of 
religion  has  one  immediate  effect  on  morals,  that  it  suppresses 
one  entire  class  of  duties,  those  towards  God  (whose  existence 
is  denied),  and  that  it  also  changes  the  idea  of  the  sanction 
of  the  moral  law.  Whether  religion  be  accepted,  then,  or  re- 
jected, it  cannot  be  an  indifferent  element  in  the  conception  of 
morality.  History  shows  us  how  strongly  the  religious  idea  has 
acted  on  the  development  of  the  life  of  humanity,  so  that  it  can 
truly  be  said,  as  are  the  gods,  so  are  the  people. 

To  understand  what  the  indissoluble  bond  is  which  connects 
morality  with  the  general  conception  of  the  world,  it  is  enough 
to  look  more  closely  into  this  very  notion  of  obligation,  which 
we  have  here  taken  to  be  the  elementary  fact  of  conscience. 
This  obligation,  this  law,  regarded  in  itself,  may  be  considered 
as  external  to  ourselves,  imposed  by  an  authority  outside  us.  In 
order  that  it  may  be  based  upon  the  nature  of  things  and  may 
exhibit  an  absolute  character,  independent  of  circumstances,  it 
is  necessary  that  it  be  the  very  law  of  our  being.  It  may  be 
well  summed  up,  then,  in  the  old  Stoical  maxim : — Act  in  accord- 
ance with  your  nature.  In  other  words  :  Be  what  you  are;  i.e., 
what  you  ought  to  be.  For  man  to  realise  his  idea  or  his  true 
nature,  is  to  realise  his  ideal.  Now,  man  is  not  an  isolated 
being,  he  depends  on  a  whole,  and  out  of  that  whole  on  the 
great  family,  called  humanity.  M.  Secre'tan,  says  :  "  We  give 
the  experimental  datum  of  morality  when  we  say,  'I  recognise 
myself  as  a  free  element  of  a  whole  ;  I  am  bound  therefore  to 
conduct  myself  as  such,  or,  in  other  words,  I  am  bound  to  seek 
the  complete  realisation,  the  truth,  the  good  of  the  whole.  I 
am  bound  to  seek  the  realisation  of  my  ideal,  my  truth,  my 
proper  good,  in  the  realisation  of  the  ideal  and  the  truth  of  the 
whole."  l  Thus  altruism  is  contained  in  the  categorical  impera- 
1  "Revue  Philosophique,"  January,  1882. 


408  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

live,  instead  of  reaching  us  by  the  tortuous  way  of  utilitarian 
experiences  which  are  always  open  to  doubt. 

The  altruism  of  which  we  are  now  speaking  has  no  analogy 
with  the  altruism  of  the  transformist  school,  which  springs 
directly  out  of  its  general  principles.  It  is  not  true  that  it  is 
identified  by  its  practical  results  with  the  principle  of  justice 
and  love,  which  is  the  glory  of  the  morality  of  obligation.  It 
cannot,  after  all,  separate  itself  from  the  great  law  of  selection, 
which  evolves  progress  out  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  in  the 
struggle  for  existence.  This  stern  consequence  was  drawn 
from  that  law  by  Herbert  Spencer,  who  does  not  hesitate  to 
blame  a  too  active  charity,  at  least,  under  a  collective  form. 
With  regard  to  worthless  members  of  society  he  even  goes  so 
far  as  to  show  a  certain  antipathy  to  a  too  general  diffusion 
of  instruction.  He  says  :  "  The  agents  who  undertake  to  pro- 
tect the  incapable,  taken  as  a  body,  do  an  unquestionable 
wrong  ;  they  hinder  that  process  of  natural  elimination  by 
which  society  is  constantly  purifying  itself."  1 

Hseckel,  with  his  extraordinary  candour,  maintains  the  same 
view:  "The  theory  of  descent,"  he  says,  "establishes  that  in 
human  societies,  as  in  societies  of  animals,  neither  the  claims, 
duties,  benefits,  nor  enjoyments  of  all  the  associated  members 
ever  will  or  can  be  equal."  2 

This,  then,  is  what  lies  at  the  root  of  transformist  altruism. 
Its  morality  is  absolutely  dependent  on  the  philosophical  prin- 
ciples of  the  school. 

Let  us  now  look  at  the  true  altruism.  As  we  have  said, 
there  is  in  this  All,  of  which  we  form  part,  something  which 
touches  us  very  closely,  which  is  flesh  of  our  flesh,  bone  of  our 
bone — namely,  humanity.  We  find  in  every  son  of  man  the 
same  fact  of  conscience  as  in  ourselves.  All  are  bound  by  the 
same  obligations,  the  same  law  of  duty.  Hence  the  greatness 
of  the  human  personality  in  itself,  the  respect  we  owe  it,  the 

1  Introduction  to  "Social  Science."     Herbert  Spencer. 

2  "  Evidences  of  Evolution."     Hseckel. 


INDEPENDENT  MORALITY.  409 

sacred  obligation  resting  on  us  to  fulfil  its  law  without  constraint, 
and  so  sedulously  to  guard  its  liberty.  We  thus  fulfil  the  law 
of  justice,  which,  assuming  a  positive  character,  rises  above  a 
purely  negative  conception,  such  as  the  simple  reparation  of 
wrongs.  There  is  not  merely  juxtaposition  among  human 
beings,  there  is  a  close  solidarity.  They  cannot  do  without 
one  another  ;  they  are  bound  to  aid  and  succour  one  another. 
To  act  as  forming  part  of  mankind,  is  to  fulfil  the  law  of 
brotherliness  and  charity,  not  merely  of  justice.  Lastly,  man 
has  discovered  in  the  depths  of  his  being  one  greater  than 
himself.  Diiriforeshadowings  of  such  a  presence  have  come  to 
him  through  this  wonderful  world,  in  whose  harmonious  organi- 
sation "  the  invisible  things  of  Him  are  clearly  seen,  being 
understood  by  the  things  that  are  made."  As  a  part  of  the  All, 
he  himself  depends  upon  the  very  principle  of  the  All,  or  the 
intelligent  free  Cause,  who  is  the  absolute  good,  and  who  can 
never  be  anything  less  than  this,  when  once  the  fact  of  the 
elementary  conscience  has  been  accepted ;  for  if  man  has  the 
conception  of  good,  He  from  whom  it  comes  can  be  nothing 
but  good  itself.  For  man  to  seek  the  truth,  the  good,  the 
highest  possibilities  of  the  All,  is  then  to  connect  it  and  to  con- 
nect himself  with  its  principle,  he  acting  as  its  free  agent,  and 
fulfilling  the  purpose  of  his  being  in  labouring  for  the  uni- 
versal good,  commencing  with  the  sphere  that  lies  nearest  to 
him — mankind.1 

It  would  be  easy,  I  think,  to  show  that  this  analysis  of  moral 
obligation  corresponds  to  its  most  diverse  manifestations,  even 
when  these  are  obscured  by  gross  superstitions.  It  will  be 
seen  that  we  go  beyond  the  moral  postulate  of  Kant,  both  in 
its  original  form  and  as  modified  by  the  French  critical  school 
It  has  been  said,  not  without  reason,  that  that  postulate  is 
too  formal,  and  not  comprehensive  enough.  It  could  not  be 
otherwise  while  the  world  of  direct  realities  was  reduced  to 
pure  phenomenalism.  We  know  how  far  M.  Renouvier's 
1  "  Revue  Philosophique, "  January,  1882. 


410  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTV. 

school  goes  in  this  direction,  since  it  does  not  even  admit,  as 
Kant  does,  the  existence  of  the  "  ding  an  sich?  the  noumenon 
apart  from  its  manifestations  which  are  all  that  we  perceive. 
From  this  standpoint  morality  is  not  simply  the  sublime  pos- 
tulate of  practical  reason,  and  as  its  coup  d'etat  it  must  be 
restricted  to  the  limited  sphere  of  consciousness.  Duty 
becomes  necessarily  abstract,  and  cannot  go  further  than  the 
only  phenomenon  of  which  we  are  certain,  that  is  our  own 
personality  which  we  recognise  in  other  men.  We  understand 
how  the  phenomenalism  of  M.  Renouvier  prevents  his  attach- 
ing any  other  idea  than  that  of  justice  to  moral  obligation ; 
for  justice,  as  he  understands  it,  does  not  go  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  human  phenomenon,  since  it  is  for  ourselves  we 
claim  the  respect  of  others,  when  we  respect  our  neighbour. 
Here  is  reciprocity,  not  fraternity.  M.  Renouvier's  idea  is 
expressed  in  these  words  :  "  It  is  by  generalising  the  person 
of  the  agent  that  we  arrive  at  the  general  and  universal  rule 
of  justice.  We  begin  by  seeking  for  ourselves  the  rule  of  our 
actions,  and  then  we  generalise  the  person  of  the  agent."1  This 
is,  alter  all,  only  negative  justice,  for  as  soon  as  it  goes  beyond 
a  frigid  respect  for  the  rights  of  others,  as  soon  as  it  grasps 
what  is  implied  in  the  law  of  solidarity  among  men,  the  duty 
of  striving  after  their  full  reciprocal  development,  it  becomes 
love.  Justice  is  consummated  in  charity;  so  long  as  it  remains 
below  this  standard  it  is  not  complete  justice.2 

Phenomenalism,  which  does  not  admit  the  reality  of  the 
object  as  apart  from  the  subject,  cannot  get  beyond  its  sub- 
jective monad,  at  least,  metaphysically  speaking.  It  corrects 
itself  by  its  generous  postulates;  but  adhering  strictly  to  its 
philosophical  principle,  it  cannot  get  beyond  the  ego,  and 
its  morality  amounts  to  nothing  more  than  the  generalisation 
of  the  individual.  There  can  be  no  room  for  the  idea  of  fra- 

1  "Science  de  la  Morale,"  Renouvier,  vol.  i.,  p.  139. 
3  '  -  Article  sur  le  Neo  criticisme  et  la  Morale  de  Kant." — "  Revue  Philoso- 
phique,"  1881.     See  M.  Secretan's  article  already  cited  in  the  same  review. 


INDEPENDENT  MORALITY.  411 

ternity  in  that  of  obligation,  unless  we  admit  the  reality  of  the 
All,  of  which  mankind  forms  part,  and  the  good  of  which  man 
is  bound  to  seek.  Charity  can  have  no  solid  foundation, 
unless  I  admit  the  objective  reality  of  that  which  is  outside 
myself,  the  reality  of  the  All,  which  implies  that  of  humanity ; 
then  morality  ceases  to  be  formal,  it  is  positive  as  the  world, 
real  as  God. 

We  have  endeavoured,  in  another  part  of  this  book,  to  show 
how  we  can  conceive  the  objectivity  of  the  world  without 
repudiating  the  generous  reaction  of  criticism  against  meta- 
physical fatalism,  by  making  freedom  of  action  the  axis,  and, 
so  to  speak,  the  principle  of  the  universe.  We  know,  indeed, 
that  criticism  multiplies  postulates,  which  are  in  truth  only  acts 
of  the  will,  that  it  may  not  leave  morality  without  any  solid 
foundation.  By  these  postulates,  which  go  so  far  as  to  predi- 
cate God  and  immortality,  criticism  leads  us,  as  M.  Fouillee 
says,  to  the  very  threshold  of  the  sanctuary.  We  believe  that 
it  is  posMble,  not  only  to  draw  near,  but  to  enter  the  sanctuary, 
while  still  remaining  faithful  to  the  principle  of  certainty.  This 
free  and  acting  cause,  which  the  simplest  exercise  of  our  will 
shows  us  at  work,  not  only  within  but  outside  of  us,  we  have 
transferred  to  the  absolute,  by  anthropomorphism — the  natural 
consequence  of  the  principle  of  causation,  which  does  not 
allow  that  man  can  be  greater  than  his  Author.  Nor  can  he 
be  better ;  thus  his  idea  of  good,  as  it  results  from  moral  obli- 
gation— his  idea  of  good  freely  chosen  and  realised  in  the 
exercise  of  justice  and  of  kindness — can  only  come  from  the 
absolute  in  whom  it  finds  its  supreme  type.  This  absolute, 
moreover,  is  the  very  principle  and  perpetual  source  of  life 
for  the  All  of  which  we  form  a  part,  and  in  particular  for 
humanity,  whose  members  we  are.  Therefore  our  duties  to- 
wards Him  are  one  with  our  duties  to  mankind.  He  Himself 
has  joined  in  one  and  the  same  command,  the  love  we  owe  to 
Him  and  to  our  brethren.  We  love  Him  only  as  we  love  them. 
This  is  the  fundamental  principle  of  all  religion,  that  is  not 


412  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

mere  mercenary  devotion.  Thus  the  moral  and  the  religious 
idea  are  closely  interwoven  in  the  consciousness.  This  union 
will  be  yet  more  evident  as  we  look  at  it  in  the  light  of  moral 
sanctions. 

V.     MORAL  SANCTIONS. 

The  moral  sense,  by  which  we  always  mean  the  fundamental 
intuition  of  conscience,  not  only  makes  us  hear  the  categorical 
imperative  ;  it  not  only  inflicts  upon  us  the  intolerable  anguish 
of  remorse  after  wrong  done,  but  it  fills  us  with  a  foreboding  of 
punishment.  We  do  not  believe  only  in  the  moral  law,  but 
in  its  sanctions.  If  there  is  one  feeling  more  universal  than 
another,  it  is  the  recognition  of  a  retributive  justice  which 
annexes  pain  to  wrong  and  happiness  to  well-doing.  Here 
the  utilitarians  meet  us  with  their  assertion  that  all  our  mo- 
rality of  obligation  falls  in  at  last  with  their  theories,  and  that 
duty  leads  to  profit.  We  have  found  a  better  bank,  whose 
exchanges  appear  all  the  more  safe  for  being  far,  and  in  which 
we  can  secure  a  large  interest  for  our  investments,  since  we 
are  to  receive  eternal  happiness  in  exchange  for  privations 
brief  as  life  itself.  This  is  the  last  utilitarian  objection  with 
which  we  shall  deal. 

We  reply,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is  not  exact  to  affirm 
that  because  the  world  is  so  organised  as  not  to  sanction  evil, 
duty  and  interest  are  one  and  the  same.  Tae  motives  of 
our  actions  are  utterly  different,  according  as  we  act  from 
a  sense  of  duty  or  from  self-interest.  In  the  first  case,  we 
obey  a  law  which  we  feel  incumbent  upon  us.  In  the  second, 
we  calculate,  we  think  only  of  consequences.  This  is  so 
true,  that  whenever  the  consideration  of  the  immediate  re- 
sult is  foremost  in  our  mind,  we  unhesitatingly  set  aside 
obligation.  Thus  there  is  an  essential  difference  in  the  two 
motives.  In  the  second  place,  the  sanction  of  the  moral  law 
is  not  pleasure  in  the  largest  possible  sum ;  it  is  happiness. 
Now  happiness,  in  its  highest  acceptation,  is  the  true  fulfil- 


MORAL   SANCTIONS.  413 

ment  of  our  destiny,  the  realisation  ot  our  ideal,  perfection,  in 
a  word,  holiness  ;  for  every  selfish  joy  has  a  blight  upon  it,  a 
worm  in  the  bud.  There  is  no  true  happiness  except  when 
the  ego  is  raised  above  itself  in  generous  self-forgetfulness. 
This  is  true  of  all  the  pleasures  of  art  and  science,  and  of  the 
affections  themselves,  which  are  troubled  and  precarious  so 
long  as  they  are  confined  to  the  restless  sphere  of  passion, 
always  selfish  at  heart.  "  To  live  for  humanity  which  lives  in 
God,"  says  M.  Charles  Secre'tan,  "  to  live  in  God  Himself  and 
by  Him,  to  enter  into  His  will  and  feel  His  influence  through 
prayer,  the  medium  between  the  world  and  God,  this  is  hap- 
piness." l  The  best  reward  of  duty  done,  is  its  perfect  fulfil- 
ment, which  becomes  second  nature  to  us;  the  recompense 
of  love,  is  to  love  perfectly.  Thus  we  become  free  indeed ; 
for  liberty  begins  of  necessity  with  a  period  of  hesitation,  but 
it  is  not  destined  to  remain  in  a  state  of  perpetual  indecision. 
In  its  higher  and  more  perfect  development,  it  becomes  the 
free  acceptance  of  the  true  law  of  our  being,  which  is  con- 
formity to  the  Divine  ideal  of  good. 

Good  never  terminates  in  the  individual ;  in  its  highest 
realisation  it  is  social  and  broadly  human.  There  is  no  hap- 
piness in  selfish  isolation,  for  nothing  is  more  contrary  to  the 
law  of  our  nature  as  sons  of  humanity.  True  happiness  is 
the  community  of  good  ;  and  its  first  condition  is  the  active 
self-devotion  which  strives  to  realise  it.  If  good  is  done  from 
any  other  motive,  it  is  only  mercenary,  not  true  benevolence. 
The  Mahometan  who  dreams  of  houris  and  everlasting  feasts 
in  the  future  life,  is  only  a  gross  utilitarian ;  the  man  who, 
calling  himself  a  Christian,  has  no  other  motive  in  eschewing 
evil  than  to  avoid  hell-fire,  is  no  better.  The  fear  of  pain  is 
only  the  counterpart  of  the  search  after  pleasure.  Epicureanism 
lurks  under  the  robe  of  the  Pharisee,  as  under  the  sackcloth 
of  the  fakir ;  it  is  the  secret  of  all  the  selfish  pietism  which 

1  "  Discours  Laiques,"  Charles  Secretan,  p.  269. 


4M  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

seeks  to  purchase  heaven,  and  thinks  of  the  pleasures  of  heaven 
as  something  distinct  from  holiness.  We  must  admit  then, 
unless  we  deny  all  moral  purpose  in  the  world,  that  it  has 
been  so  organised  as  not  to  show  itself  favourable  in  the  end 
to  evil,  which  violates  its  first  and  highest  law.  Good  ought  to 
lead  to  complete  happiness,  not  only  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
human  heart,  but  also  for  the  restoration  of  the  harmonv 
between  the  inward  and  outward  conditions  of  existence.  We 
say  with  Proudhon  that  God  is  evil,  if  evil  is  the  end  of  all 
things.  It  would  not  triumph  in  the  end  if  it  had  not  pre- 
vailed in  the  beginning.  But  to  say  that  God  is  evil,  is  to  say 
that  God  does  not  exist ;  that  universal  life  has  no  intelligent 
and  free  cause,  and  that  life  is  but  a  chaos  in  which  order 
comes  by  chance.  We  have  already  sufficiently  disproved 
such  an  assertion.  If  God  exists,  if  He  has  pursued  a  plan 
in  the  organisation  of  the  world,  if  moral  forces  are  par  excellence 
the  ends  of  life,  good  ought  to  lead,  I  do  not  say  to  pleasure, 
but  to  the  happiness  inseparable  from  the  perfect  fulfilment  of 
the  law.  Moral  obligation,  then,  is  the  end  as  it  is  the  begin- 
ning of  the  development  of  the  higher  life.  Only  the  distance 
may  be  long  between  the  starting-point  and  the  goal.  Under 
the  actual  conditions  of  existence  there  is  an  ever-recurring 
conflict  between  duty  and  interest.  The  path  of  duty  is  a 
path  of  tears,  of  blood,  of  betrayal,  defeat,  self-sacrifice.  Evil 
is  constantly  celebrating  its  insolent  triumphs ;  and,  as  the 
Scripture  says,  the  righteous  perish  and  no  man  regards  it. 
Glory  often  casts  a  false  halo  around  sinful  pleasures.  It 
cannot  be  otherwise  in  a  world  where  evil  abounds.  Doubtless 
when  we  go  back  in  thought  through  the  centuries,  we  see 
that  even  on  this  side  the  grave,  great  moral  defections  bring 
their  punishment,  at  least  in  society  at  large.  Yet  the  retribu- 
tion is  never  complete.  Thus  Kant  was  the  interpreter  of 
conscience  when  he  made  the  future  life  a  postulate  without 
which  the  moral  law  wculd  lack  adequate  sanction.  "  It  would 
be  madness,"  says  M.  Janet,  "  to  suppose  that  man  was  con- 


MORAL  SANCTIONS.  415 

strained  by  the  moral  law  to  regard  justice,  and  yet  that  there 
was  no  justice  towards  himself. 

Happiness,  then,  in  the  exalted  sense  in  which  we  under- 
stand it,  is  the  restoration  of  moral  order ;  punishment  itself 
is  never  a  mere  penalty,  but  always  tends  to  the  amendment 
of  the  guilty,  for  only  on  this  condition  is  it  moral  at  all. 
To  suppose  that  there  is  a  phase  in  the  life  to  come,  in 
which  punishment  will  be  only  pain,  even  to  the  most  per- 
verse of  men,  is  to  libel  God.  Thus  punishment  itself  pursues 
a  moral  end,  the  true  restoration  of  order,  which  is  the  triumph 
of  good. 

This  is  an  old  morality,  we  confess.  Hence  it  is  regarded 
with  great  contempt  by  the  pessimists  of  our  day,  who  can 
hardly  claim  more  originality  for  their  own  system,  which  is  but 
a  revival  of  old  Buddhism.  They  say  they  are  the  only  philos- 
ophers who  really  set  aside  utilitarianism,  and  lay  the  true  foun- 
dations of  disinterested  morality.  We  must,  in  concluding, 
briefly  examine  this  assertion.  We  have  already  explained  the 
metaphysics  of  the  pessimist  school.  Schopenhauer,  carrying 
Kant's  criticism  to  its  furthest  issues,  affirms  that  the  principle 
of  things  is  not  to  be  reached  by  the  intellect,  which  is  limited 
by  its  absolute  subjectivity,  but  only  by  the  consciousness.1 
Consciousness  perceives  simply  an  impersonal  will,  without 
any  contact  with  the  intellect.  We  can  but  ask  what  it  is 
supposed  to  will,  since  it  can  make  no  choice  between  pos- 
sibilities of  which  it  knows  nothing ;  and  this  transcen4ental 
will  confines  itself  to  merely  willing  to  live.  This  vague, 
mysterious  will  is  the  source  of  all  our  sorrows.  There  has 
been  no  other  act  of  freedom  but  this  act  which  does  not 
belong  to  time.  As  far  as  we  are  concerned,  we  owe  our 
origin  to  it,  but  do  not  repeat  it  in  any  degree,  for  our 
character  is  absolutely  predetermined.  Determinism  governs 
us  and  constrains  us  in  all  we  do.  Velle  non  discitur. 


. 


1  See  M.  Fouillee's  discussion  of  the  morality  of  Schophenhauer  and 
Hartmaim,  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  March,  1881. 


416  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

We  never  learn  to  will,  since  the  will  is  always  distinct  from 
the  intellect  and  antecedent  to  it.  This  is  enough  to  show- 
that  the  supposed  metaphysical  basis  given  to  morality  by 
Schophenhauer,  is  inadequate  to  sustain  it,  and  that  the  first 
principles  of  his  system  render  it  impossible.  Hartmann 
gives  it  no  more  solid  foundation.  He  regards  the  world  as 
one  act  of  unconscious  madness,  the  will  having  made  the  world 
without  the  knowledge  of  unconscious  reason,  and  having  thus 
inaugurated  the  torture  of  that  senseless  god  to  whom  existence 
is  a  distress.  Thus  the  essential  will,  the  will  which  is  before 
time,  is  blind,  without  a  glimmering  of  reason,  even  of  uncon- 
scious reason.  It  is  only  in  the  actual  conditions  of  existence 
that  it  is  united  to  consciousness,  which  arose  out  of  a  pure 
accident  of  the  physiological  development  of  the  brain.  The 
will,  thus  become  conscious,  is  bound  to  recognise  the  incurable 
misery  and  folly  of  existence  and  to  try  to  put  an  end  to  it. 
In  this  consists  its  moral  obligation.  But  we  must  not  forget 
that  the  whole  of  this  sphere  of  conscious  life  belongs  to  a 
transitory  and  purely  phenomenal  world,  which  is  only  a  rapid 
lightning  shaft  in  the  eternal  night ;  an  ephemeral  appearance 
on  the  ocean  of  the  great  unconscious  All.  In  short,  duty 
ought  to  bring  about  a  state  of  things  in  which  all  duty  will 
cease. 

If  we  now  ask,  wherein  consists  this  duty  so  ill-sustained  by 
Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann,  we  shall  see  that  the  character 
of  disinterestedness  claimed  for  it  is  altogether  a  delusion. 
Schopenhauer  reduces  all  morality  to  pity,  since  life  itself  is 
a  misfortune.  But  this  pity  is  only  a  false  semblance,  for 
since  all  distinction  among  existences  is  obliterated,  there  is  no 
more  real  duality  in  the  world.  "  To  take  pity  on  my  brother," 
he  says,  "is  to  take  pity  on  myself,  for  he  is  I,  and  I  am  he, 
in  absolute  identity ;  we  may  say  of  every  object  perceived 
by  the  ego,  as  the  old  Indian  proverb  says  :  Tiwu  art  that" 
Morality  then  terminates  in  myself,  and  I  do  not  see  why  well- 
regulated  pity  should  not  begin  and  end  in  my  own  person. 


INDEPENDENT  MORALITY.  417 

It  follows  that  this  so-called  disinterested  morality  is  nothing 
but  a  colossal  egoism.  Hartmann  comes  more  directly  to 
the  point :  Existence  being  itself  the  one  great  evil,  our  aim 
should  be  to  put  an  end  to  it.  He  says :  "  Man  ought  to 
become  the  great  high-priest  of  pessimism.  Real  existence  is 
at  once  the  incarnation  and  the  passion  of  the  Godhead  made 
flesh,  and  at  the  same  time  the  way  that  leads  to  the  liberation 
of  the  crucified.  Morality  consists  in  trying  to  shorten  suffer- 
ing; the  ideal  to  be  arrived  at  amounts  simply  to  this,  that 
man  should  concentrate  in  himself  the  sum  of  energy  necessary 
for  the  vast  suicide." 

From  the  standpoint  of  this  absolute  pessimism,  the  pity  re- 
commended by  Schopenhauer  is  an  inconsistency,  especially 
if  it  tends  to  practical  charity ;  for  in  rendering  life  bearable, 
by  ameliorating  its  economic  conditions,  it  diminishes  the  sum 
of  wretchedness  and  retards  the  great  day  of  universal  de- 
liverance. Hence  the  social  morality  of  Hartmann  is  the 
hardest,  the  most  pitiless  possible.  He  recognises  only  one 
sort  of  progress,  that  which  helps  to  unify  humanity  so  as  to 
hasten  on  the  final  suicide.  Nevertheless  there  are  still  some 
privileged  individuals.  These  are  not  required  to  sacrifice 
themselves  for  humanity.  It  is  their  part  to  labour  for  the 
unification  of  the  race,  for  the  suicide  is  not  to  be  fragmentary. 
They  therefore  marry,  carry  on  commerce,  make  the  best  pos- 
sible figure  in  the  world,  while  awaiting  the  end  of  the  comedy 
when  the  night  of  the  Unconscious  will  enwrap  in  its  folds  all 
that  has  lived,  and  hush  it  in  eternal  silence.  There  is  no 
guarantee,  however,  that  the  one  All  may  not  be  taken  with  a 
fresh  access  of  madness,  and  may  not  again  commit  one  of  those 
follies  called  a  world.  In  any  case,  this  great  Unconscious, 
whose  puppets  we  are,  fills  the  whole  volume  of  history.  He 
only  pursues  in  us  a  purely  selfish  end,  since  his  happiness  is  in 
ceasing  to  be,  and  this  absolute  disinterestedness  is  nothing 
but  boundless  egoism.  M.  Fouillee  has  well  said,  that  pessim- 
ism is  nothing  but  Epicureanism  reversed,  and  its  ultimate 

K   £ 


418  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

term  is  the  quest  of  pleasure.  While  awaiting  the  final 
destruction,  we  may  scatter  a  few  flowers  along  the  gloomy 
path  which  is  so  soon  to  end  in  the  abyss.  Pessimism  thus 
makes  common  cause  with  utilitarianism.  On  the  other  hand 
utilitarianism  agrees  with  pessimism  in  pronouncing  on  the 
soul  the  doom  of  annihilation.  We  have  seen  Herbert 
Spencer  placing  all  human  and  social  life  under  the  great  law 
of  rhythm,  which  demands  a  period  of  disintegration  after  that 
of  aggregation.  Our  world  is  to  end  in  universal  destruction, 
out  of  which  will  arise  new  combinations  of  energy.  Thus 
the  morality  of  utility  also  ends  in  annihilation,  so  revealing 
the  insurmountable  contradiction  in  its  terms.  Utilitarianism, 
which  denies  the  moral  law,  denies  also  any  free  and  intelli- 
gent Cause.  Everything  begins  and  ends  in  chaos.  Having 
sought  nothing  but  utility,  it  loses  it,  and  thus  justifies  the 
words  of  the  gospel :  "  He  that  will  save  his  life  shall  lose  it, 
and  he  that  loses  his  life  shall  find  it." 

On  the  other  hand,  the  morality  of  obligation  leads  us  up  to 
the  very  principle  of  obligation,  which  is  the  absolute  good. 
Absolute  good  is  also  supreme  wisdom  and  sovereign  power. 
It  knows  how  to  order  things  so  that  they  shall  tend  to  endless 
progress,  not  to  destruction.  This  is  why  duty  is  no  vain 
thing,  it  is  accompanied  with  power,  it  joins  itself  to  omnipo- 
tence, and  it  adds  each  day  some  unperishing  stone  to  the 
indestructible  building  which  rises  ever  grander  and  higher. 
Only  on  such  conditions  does  morality  cease  to  be  a  mockery, 
mere  child's  play.  We  can  understand  the  sacrifice  of  the 
individual  interest  to  the  interests  of  humanity,  if  humanity 
is  a  reality  ;  but  if  humanity,  society,  the  moral  and  physical 
life,  are  all  destined  to  vanish  away,  like  a  shadow  which  has 
just  darkened  the  sullen  surface  of  immensity,  what  object  is 
answered  by  such  self-sacrifice  ?  Altruism  is  deprived  of  all 
motive.  But  even  apart  from  the  fatal  issue  thus  predicted, 
self-sacrifice  loses  all  moral  value  when  we  once  come  to  regard 
it  as  the  result  of  pure  determinism. 


INDEPENDENT  MORALITY.  419 

In  conclusion,  we  say  that,  apart  from  the  morality  of  obli- 
gation, there  is  no  such  thing  as  morality  at  all.  There 
remains  no  law  to  command  our  life,  no  standard  or  test  of 
right,  for  pleasure  is  only  to  be  estimated  by  its  quantity, 
since  quality  belongs  to  a  higher  order  of  things.  There  is 
no  longer  an  inward  judge  to  stamp  the  action  in  itself,  and  not 
merely  in  its  results. 

Responsibility  is  involved  in  the  same  shipwreck  as  free-will 
All  sanction  has  disappeared  from  this  world  and  from  the  other. 
Existence  is  a  tragi-comedy,  or  rather  a  comic  tragedy ;  for  it 
passes  from  the  agreeable  and  the  useful  to  universal  annihilation, 
a  prospect  which  holds  out  no  moral  stimulus,  and  which  may 
induce  the  vulgar  to  turn  the  comedy  into  a  carnival.  Utili- 
tarian morality  is  essentially  immoral ;  it  cannot  fail  to  have  a 
demoralising  effect  upon  society  when  once  its  false  principles 
have  permeated  the  atmosphere  in  which  we  live.  In  oppo- 
sition to  all  these  sophisms  we  shall  never  cease  to  plead  the 
moral  intuition,  the  fact  of  the  primitive  conscience,  that  faith 
in  duty  which  is  itself  the  first  of  all  duties ;  and  we  plead 
for  it  as  a  free  act  of  the  will.  We  say  unreservedly  that  we 
have  no  right  to  question  this  obligation  ;  we  are  bound  to 
submit  to  it.  We  avow  this  determination,  which  is  the  most 
important  step  in  the  moral  and  intellectual  life.  "  There  is 
no  hypothesis,  however  ingenious,  "  says  M.  Vacherot,"  which 
does  not  fall  before  such  a  fact  of  the  consciousness  as  that 
of  our  freedom  of  action."  *  We  do  not  separate  this  fact 
from  its  principle.  It  is  not  simply  the  voice  of  our  inner  life, 
a  higher  instinct,  for  it  constantly  demands  of  us  that  which 
we  would  not  choose ;  and  it  does  so  with  an  authority  which 
we  cannot  dispute ;  for  it  reveals  to  us  an  ideal  to  which  we 
have  not  attained.  It  comes  then  from  above,  from  God 
Himself.  We  cannot  divorce  the  sense  of  duty  from  the  sense 
of  the  divine  within  us.  We  are  thus  led  to  look  more  closely 
into  the  relation  between  morality  and  religion  and  to  ask  if 
they  have  not  both  the  same  origin. 

1  "La  Science  et  la  Conscience,"  Vacherot,  p.  4. 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  IDEAL.— ART. 

FROM  a  psychological  point  of  view,  man  is  a  thinking,  willing, 
feeling  being.  Feeling  is  that  attraction  which  urges  us  to 
seek  the  good,  whatever  it  is,  which  is  in  harmony  with  our 
nature.  To  thought  it  assumes  the  form  of  truth;  the  will 
makes  the  effort  necessary  to  attain  to  truth  ;  feeling  stimulates 
us  to  pursue  it,  kindles  the  desire,  and  makes  it  a  motive 
power.  Doubtless  the  chief  element  in  feeling  is  always  affec- 
tion ;  we  love  that  which  we  desire.  Repulsion,  which  is  the 
counterpart  of  love,  is  only  the  converse  of  affection,  and  be- 
longs to  the  same  psychological  category.  Feeling  blends  with 
all  our  higher  life.  It  leads  us  not  to  be  content  with  verifying 
phenomena  as  they  present  themselves  to  us,  but  to  desire 
to  know  more  of  them;  it  fills  us  with  a  real  thirst  for  know- 
ledge. Feeling  stimulates  without  overpowering  the  will ;  it 
receives  from  it,  however,  even  more  than  it  gives,  for  it  is  the 
will  which  exalts  and  ennobles  feeling,  and  confers  on  it  a 
moral  character.  Only  in  this  way  do  our  affections  rise  to 
true  love,  self-possessed  and  self-surrendering ;  an  emotion 
perfectly  distinct  from  the  sexual  instinct,  which  it  controls 
and  purifies  without  suppressing. 

Feeling  is  in  one  sense  inferior  to  reason  and  will,  since, 
in  itself,  it  is  confused,  indistinct,  and  more  allied  to  the  in- 
stinctive life;  but  in  another  sense  it  transcends  it.  It  con- 
tains in  a  latent  state  the  deepest  intuitions  of  our  being, 
its  grandest  aspirations.  It  is  for  reason  to  draw  them  out,  for 

420 


THE  IDEAL.  421 

the  will  to  give  them  progressive  realisation  ;  but  it  is  feeling 
which  holds  within  it  all  these  mighty  and  mysterious  possi- 
bilities. 


I.  THE  SENSE  OF  THE  IDEAL. 

The  noblest  of  our  aspirations  is  that  which  tends  to  the 
ideal,  to  that  which  lies  beyond  present  realities  and  present 
enjoyments,  beyond  all  that  earth  gives  or  can  give.  This 
last  trait  completes  the  broad  distinction  between  man  and 
the  animal.  This  aspiration  after  the  ideal  must  not  be  con- 
founded with  that  intuition  of  the  infinite  to  which  reason 
rises,  nor  with  that  notion  of  perfection  which  is  the  essence 
of  moral  obligation.  It  is  no  doubt  closely  allied  with  these, 
but  still  it  is  distinct  from  them.  We  could,  in  fact,  conceive 
of  man  contenting  himself  with  these  high  ideas  of  perfection 
and  of.  the  infinite,  without  aspiring  to  rise  above  his  present 
condition.  He  might  contemplate  these  sublimities  like 
glorious  stars  shedding  their  pure  radiance  upon  him  from 
the  skies,  while  he  himself  pursued  his  way  through  the  world 
without  any  intense  yearning  after  the  ideal,  any  constant 
reaching  after  the  things  beyond.  This  does  not  imply  that 
he  would  be  satisfied  with  his  destiny;  it  would  be  pain  to  him 
not  to  know  all,  and  he  would  be  conscious  of  remorse  after 
wrong  done ;  but  he  would  console  himself  by  faith  in  a 
gradual  progress  in  knowledge  and  in  the  practice  of  good, 
and  he  would  not  feel  that  strange  home-sickness  which  now 
never  ceases  to  torment  him.  The  aspiration  after  the  ideal 
is  not  simply  the  desire  to  add  to  the  sum  of  knowledge  and 
of  good,  it  is  the  profound  and  bitter  consciousness  that  we 
shall  never  quench  upon  earth  our  thirst  after  happiness,  truth, 
and  purity.  There  is  no  feeling  more  universal,  more  inde- 
structible, more  truly  human. 

It  manifests  itself  in  every  sphere  of  existence,  even  in  the 
lowest — the  sphere  of  mere  enjoyment.  When  the  animal  is 


422  THE   PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

satiated,  when  all  its  appetites  have  been  appeased,  it  feels  a 
perfect  satisfaction,  till  the  goad  of  appetite  makes  it  restless 
again.  Man,  on  the  contrary,  is  ever  restless  and  craving  for 
more,  even  in  this  low  sphere  of  pleasure.  We  are  not  re- 
ferring simply  to  the  delirium  of  excess  with  its  feverish  reac- 
tions. The  fever  of  dissipation,  which  hurries  so  many  into 
the  vortex  of  gaiety,  arises  from  man's  desire  to  forget  the 
realities  of  life,  which  seem  to  him  so  sad  and  unsatisfactory, 
and  to  find  in  pleasure  that  which  it  has  not  to  give. 

The  same  dissatisfaction  is  felt  even  in  the  purest  earthly 
joys.  "Cor  hitmanum  inqitictnm  est,  donee  requiescat  in  Deo" 
said  one  who  had  drunk  deep  from  the  enchanted  cup  of 
earthly  pleasure  before  his  soul  was  possessed  by  the  love  of 
God,  the  only  love  truly  worthy  of  man. 

This  infinite  aspiration  is  a  perpetual  stimulus  to  thought ; 
it  forbids  man  to  rest  in  any  system,  in  any  philosophical 
conception.  Sometimes  he  seems  to  have  reached  so  grand 
a  height,  that  he  exclaims :  It  is  good  to  be  here  ;  let  us  here 
pitch  our  tent !  But  even  as  he  speaks,  other  summits,  vast 
and  shadowy,  rise  in  the  distance,  and  the  mysterious  voice 
cries,  "  Onward  and  upward,"  and  he  climbs  again.  Sometimes 
the  mind  droops  languid  and  dispirited.  It  says  to  itself: 
"  I  will  go  no  further,  seek  no  more,  I  will  pillow  my  head 
upon  my  doubts,  and  rest."  In  vain.  Doubt,  as  Verny  said, 
is  the  amusement  of  frivolous  minds,  but  it  is  the  unutterable 
sorrow  of  deeper  souls.  Humanity,  sooner  than  slumber  on 
in  doubt,  ventures  on  the  most  daring  affirmations  or  sweeping 
negations ;  it  tries  to  kill  thought  itself,  to  prove  to  it  that  it 
has  no  existence,  or,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  that  it 
is  nothing  more  than  the  vapour  of  a  heated  brain,  like  the 
mist  which  the  sun  draws  up  from  the  marshy  plain ;  but  in 
the  very  effort  which  thought  thus  makes  to  destroy  and  to 
deny  itself,  it  thrills  with  intenser  life.  The  panting  pilgrim 
resumes  his  way.  Neither  the  narcotic  poured  into  the 
curious  and  dainty  chalice  of  poetic  doubt,  nor  the  ignoble 


THE  IDEAL.  423 

allurements  and  delusive  consolations  of  the  modern  Circe — 
the  sophistical  enchantress,  whose  every  art  is  expended  to 
identify  man  with  the  brute — can  avail  to  heal  his  wounds. 
The  mind  of  man  groans  and  yearns  for  higher  consolation. 
The  dim  twilight  does  not  satisfy  him ;  he  wants  the  broad 
daylight,  the  full  sunshine  of  truth,  and  till  he  finds  this  he  is 
restless  and  perturbed.  This  agitation  of  mind  is  undoubtedly 
a  hindrance  in  the  search  after  the  partial  truth  that  we  might 
attain,  for  it  interferes  with  the  calm  and  patient  study  which 
truth  demands.  As  Malebranche  says  in  his  "  Recherche  de 
la  Verite,"  "  Our  will,  ever  urged  on  by  an  eager  thirst, 
ever  agitated  with  a  restless  desire  for  the  good  it  does  not 
possess,  cannot,  without  a  strong  effort,  allow  the  mind  to  dwell 
for  any  length  of  time  on  abstract  truths  which  do  not  touch 
it  at  all,  and  which  seem  incapable  of  rendering  it  happy. 
Thus  it  is  incessantly  urging  the  mind  in  other  directions ;  and 
when,  in  the  agitation  thus  caused  by  the  will,  the  mind  comes 
across  some  object  which  seems  to  it  good, — I  mean  which 
makes  the  soul  conscious  of  some  sweetness,  some  inward 
satisfaction  on  its  approach, — then  this  thirst  of  the  heart  is 
excited  afresh.  These  desires  and  yearnings  reassert  them- 
selves ;  and  the  mind,  forced  to  yield  to  them,  turns  exclusively 
to  the  object  which  causes  or  seems  to  cause  them,  that  it 
may  thus  bring  it  near  to  the  soul  which  longs  for  it  and  for 
a  time  seems  satisfied  with  it.  But  the  emptiness  of  the 
creature  can  never  fill  the  infinite  capacity  of  the  heart  of  man. 
These  finite  delights,  so  far  from  quenching  his  thirst,  only 
stimulate  it,  and  fill  the  soul  with  the  vain  and  foolish  hope 
of  finding  satisfaction  in  the  multiplicity  of  earthly  pleasures, 
the  effect  of  which  is  a  pitiable  inconsistency  and  levity  of 
mind.  It  is  true  that  when  the  mind  comes  by  chance  in 
contact  with  some  object  not  bounded  by  the  finite,  or  which 
has  in  it  something  inherently  grand,  its  agitation  and  unrest 
cease  for  a  time.  For  recognising  in  such  an  object  that  for 
which  the  soul  is  longing,  it  clings  to  and  dwells  upon  it ;  or 


424  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

rather,  the  resolute  bent  of  the  mind  to  investigate  things  in- 
finite and  too  high  for  it,  proves  as  unsatisfactory  as  the  levity 
with  which  it  treats  those  within  its  capacity.  It  is  too  weak 
to  carry  through  so  difficult  an  enterprise,  and  the  attempt  to 
succeed  in  it  proves  vain.  That  which  can  make  the  soul 
happy,  is  not,  so  to  speak,  the  comprehension  of  an  infinite 
object,  but  the  love  and  enjoyment  of  infinite  good." l 

Malebranche  clearly  does  not  separate  the  love  of  truth 
from  the  struggle  after  moral  perfection.  He  is  right ;  for 
truth  without  the  realisation  of  good  is  no  longer  truth.  Thus 
the  same  painful  yearning  of  which  we  have  spoken  in  the 
sphere  of  the  affections  and  in  that  of  thought,  becomes  even 
more  intense  in  the  moral  domain,  properly  so  called.  Here 
pre-eminently  does  the  ideal  seem  hopelessly  unattainable,  and 
the  greatness  of  man's  moral  nature  is  measured  by  the  depths 
of  his  despair.  It  is  only  low  and  narrow  souls  which  are 
satisfied  with  the  petty.  Wherever  there  is  a  noble  heart  it  is 
a  bruised  and  broken  heart,  mourning  its  weakness,  longing 
to  be  better,  striving  with  strong  endeavour  to  reach  the  ever- 
receding  heights  of  perfection.  This  moral  perfection,  like 
happiness,  love,  truth,  can  be  found  alone  in  the  Infinite, 
that  is,  in  God.  In  Him  all  the  aspirations  of  humanity 
centre ;  it  is  His  name  they  breathe,  thus  showing  that  man 
is  only  complete  in  God,  and  that  there  is  something  of  God 
in  his  own  nature. 

II.  THE  SENSE  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL. — ART,  ITS   THREEFOLD 

PURPOSE. 

There  is  one  sphere  in  which  the'  sense  of  the  ideal  finds  its 
fullest  expression — the  sphere  of  art.  We  shall  not  attempt  an 
sesthetic  treatise,  however  short,  for  this  would  require  a  subtler 
analysis  and  more  extended  discussion  than  we  can  give.  We 
shall  only  touch  on  art  and  on  the  sense  of  the  beautiful  as  a 

1  "  De  la  Recherche  de  la  Verite,"  Malebranche,  Part  I.,  ch.  iv. 


THE  IDEAL.— ART.  425 

necessary  element  in  any  true  description  of  man's  psychical 
characteristics. 

Art  is  the  realisation  of  the  beautiful  in  an  appropriate  form  ; 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  it  is  the  attempt  to  give  as  adequate 
an  image  or  representation  of  it  as  possible.  We  must  then 
first  define  the  idea  of  the  beautiful,  though  such  definition 
must  always  be  incomplete,  since  the  beautiful  in  its  essence 
is  rather  to  be  felt  than  described.  We  can  never  compress 
into  a  formula  the  strange  rapture,  the  exquisite  enjoyment, 
which  the  beautiful  awakens  within  us. 

The  beautiful  is  not  separable  from  the  good  and  the  true, 
for  the  psychological  unity  of  man  is  never  really  broken. 
Life  is  a  spontaneous  synthesis,  a  unification.  The  good  and 
true  is  the  beautiful,  and  beauty  devoid  these  qualities  is  beauty 
of  a  low  order.  The  beautiful,  from  the  fact  that  it  appeals 
to  the  senses,  is  always  accompanied  by  feeling,  but  must  not 
be  identified  with  it.  In  order  to  understand  wherein  it  con- 
sists, we  must  isolate  it  by  an  act  of  abstraction  which  is  a 
necessity  of  thought,  while  at  the  same  time  we  recognise  that 
this  abstraction  is  always  a  fiction  in  our  psychical  life,  which 
does  not  itself  either  isolate  or  abstract,  but  blends  in  one  that 
which  reason  alone  distinguishes  and  separates. 

Let  us  look  at  the  beautiful  in  its  simplest,  most  direct 
manifestation.  We  experience  the  sense  of  beauty  when  the 
plastic  force  which  is  at  the  basis  of  all  existence  manifests 
itself  freely  and  easily,  exhibiting  unity,  co-ordination,  order, 
harmony  of  operation.1  The  expansion  of  the  vital  energy  and 
its  harmonious  co-ordination  is  beauty.  This  harmonious  co- 
ordination is  so  distinctly  its  main  characteristic  that  it  suffices 
to  produce  an  aesthetic  impression  even  in  the  inorganic  world. 
Thus  understood,  the  beautiful  is  undoubtedly  closely  con- 
nected with  the  design  which  has  produced  order  in  the  cosmos. 
It  must  not,  however,  be  confounded  with  this,  for  the  mere 

1  See  M.  Leveque's  admirable  analysis  :  "  La  Science  du  Beau  dans  son 
Principe  et  ses  Applications  et  son  Histoire." 


426  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

adaptation  of  organs  to  their  functions  would  not  of  itself  pro- 
duce the  beautiful.  There  could  be  no  beauty  without  this 
adaptation;  but  something  more  is  wanted.  There  must  be, 
first  of  all,  that  free  and  facile  play  of  life  which  is  not  found 
in  all,  even  of  the  most  simply  organised  beings ;  and  beyond 
this  there  must  be  a  manifest  harmony  appreciable  by  the  eye 
without  the  exercise  of  the  reasoning  faculties.  The  beautiful 
is  not  merely  a  matter  of  feeling  ;  it  is  not  purely  subjective  ; 
its  elements  are  in  the  things  themselves.  What  is  this  har- 
mony, this  co-ordination,  but  the  governing,  organising  idea  in 
its'  highest  expression ;  in  a  word,  the  form  which,  as  Aristotle 
teaches,  limits,  shapes,  determines,  and  harmonises  matter, 
sealing  it  with  the  impress  of  a  ruling  thought?  Wherever 
this  impress  is  clear,  we  have  beauty — beauty  in  the  thing,  ob- 
jective beauty,  so  to  speak.  We  may  add,  that  this  beauty 
consists  not  only  in  certain  particular  forms,  but  in  the  com- 
bination of  forms ;  and  these  not  constituting  discrete  series  or 
separate  harmonies,  but  grouping  themselves  into  one  great 
harmony.  We  are  thus  carried  back  to  the  parent  idea  of  all 
these  particular  harmonies,  which  brought  forth  real,  determin- 
ate beings  of  various  forms  from  inert  matter  in  which  slum- 
bered all  possibilities  and  virtualities.  This  parent  idea  cannot 
be  itself  a  mere  potentiality,  for  the  real  is  never  produced  by 
the  potential  alone.  The  parent  idea  is  then  the  highest  of 
all  realities,  the  thought  of  thought,  thought  eternally  living 
and  actual ;  in  a  word,  God.  Thus  the  idea  of  the  beautiful, 
associated  with  the  idea  of  form,  points,  like  reason  and  con- 
sciousness, to  the  Absolute.  At  this  elevation  the  true  and 
the  beautiful  blend,  as  mountain  slopes  all  converge  to  the 
summit. 

Beauty  then  is  in  things ;  but  before  we  can  discern  it,  we 
must  have  the  sense  of  the  beautiful ;  we  must  have  intelli- 
gence, for  in  order  to  apprehend  the  grandeur  and  the  harmony 
of  nature,  the  idea  of  them  must  be  already  present  in  the 
mind.  They  are  not  perceived  by  sensation  merely ;  for  this 


THE   IDEAL.— ART.  .427 

only  grasps  the  phenomenal.  The  animal  is  conscious  of  en- 
joyment or  suffering  through  these  phenomena,  but  it  does  not 
admire  them ;  the  harmony  which  co-ordinates  them  it  does 
not  perceive.  Hence  in  order  to  recognise  the  beautiful  we 
must  possess  the  idea,  the  intuition  of  harmony,  of  a  governing, 
organising  idea  manifesting  itself  in  form  and  in  the  grouping 
and  co-ordination  of  forms.  Man  alone  is  capable  of  this, 
because  he  knows  himself;  and,  being  in  himself  the  epitome 
of  nature,  the  true  microcosm,  he  recognises  in  himself  the 
governing  idea  which  presides  over  the  disposition  of  the 
world,  the  source  of  all  its  various  forms.  With  man  this  idea 
exists  primarily  in  the  pure  state,  if  we  may  so  speak,  in  his 
reason  and  consciousness  ;  and  it  is  afterwards  expressed  in 
his  organism  which  the  idea  has  fashioned  by  the  physical 
form  which  translates  it.  He  discerns  the  beautiful  first  of 
all  in  himself  under  its  most  perfect  conditions.  After  thus 
apprehending  it  in  its  essence  and  in  its  primary  manifestation, 
he  seeks  and  finds  it  in  things.  This  explains  why  he  always 
has  an  inclination  to  get  close  to  nature,  to  recognise  his  own 
reflexion  in  nature,  and  to  place  it  in  relation  with  himself. 
Anthropomorphism,  which  plays  so  important  a  part  in  art,  is 
then  based  upon  the  truth  of  things;  for  man  is  the  highest 
form,  the  final  idea,  so  to  speak,  of  nature.  He  is  right  in 
referring  to  this  ultimate  form  all  the  antecedent  forms  which 
have  preceded  and  prepared  the  way  for  it.  This  is  the  deep 
meaning  of  St.  Paul's  declaration,  that  the  whole  creation 
groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together  .  .  .  waiting  for 
the  revealing  of  the  sons  of  God.  Man  is  the  son  of  God  upon 
earth.  Creation  terminates  in  him,  and  in  him  alone  attains  its 
true  ultimate  idea,  which  is  at  once  its  formal  and  final  cause. 
Hence  the  mysterious  groaning  of  creation ;  hence  its  deliver- 
ance when  man,  set  free  from  the  mere  life  of  instinct,  recog- 
nises himself,  and  finds  in  himself  the  key  to  the  universe. 
After  having  thus  derived  from  his  own  psychical  life  this 
formative  idea  of  the  wo*  Id,  man  clearly  discerns  it  in  nature, 


428  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

and  finds  himself  capable,  as  it  were,  of  drawing  it  forth.  This 
anthropomorphism,  which  is  in  a  sense  the  enfranchisement  of 
nature,  the  setting  free  of  the  idea  lying  in  it  latent  and  con- 
fused, permeates  human  language,  which  is  one  perpetual 
metaphor,  always  connecting  psychical  with  natural  facts,  and 
making  nature  the  mirror  of  the  soul  of  man,  so  that  every 
thought  and  feeling  clothes  itself  in  some  natural  symbol. 
Nature,  thus  interpreted  by  man,  is  the  alabaster  lamp  through 
which  shines  the  pure  light  of  reason. 

Art,  as  we  have  said,  endeavours  to  realise  the  sense  of  the 
beautiful.  This  requires  effort,  because  it  is  not  enough  to 
know  that  beauty  is  in  things ;  we  must  begin  by  separating 
it  from  the  things  themselves.  Beauty  does  not  exist  in  things 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  apparent  to  mere  sensation,  nor  does  it 
exist  everywhere  equally.  To  reproduce  nature  by  a  mere 
process  of  imitation,  is  to  appeal  to  sensation  alone ;  it  is  to 
stifle  the  idea,  the  form,  under  the  material  phenomenon.  If 
indeed  the  imitation  could  be  complete,  the  artistic  work  would 
produce  the  same  effect  that  nature  ultimately  produces  upon 
the  mind ;  but  this  complete  imitation  is  impossible.  No  music 
can  reproduce  the  swelling  roar  of  ocean ;  no  landscape  can 
raise  a  real  mountain  before  our  eyes ;  no  poetry  can  truly 
render  a  storm  or  a  May  morning.  The  imitation  is  thus 
incomplete,  and  if  it  aims  merely  at  the  natural  effect,  it  gives 
it  in  a  coarse  and  imperfect  way.  Art  is  not  then  a  mere 
copyist.  Its  first  aim  is  to  bring  out  prominently  the  harmony, 
the  co-ordination  of  the  parts  in  nature,  which  is  not  apparent 
to  the  eye  alone.  The  artist  interprets  nature  therefore 
according  to  his  own  type  and  throws  into  it  thought  and 
feeling.  A  landscape  by  Ruysdael  or  Claude  Lorraine  bears 
the  seal  of  the  artist's  individuality;  it  is  a  page  of  his  inner  life. 
In  the  second  place,  art  makes  its  choice  in  nature ;  for  beside 
the  elements  of  order,  of  beauty  and  harmony,  there  is  in 
nature  discord,  confusion,  in  a  word,  ugliness.  We  may  be- 
lieve that  in  the  end  this  discordant  element  will  resolve  itself 


THE  IDEAL,— ART.  429 

into  the  universal  harmony,  and  may  even  contribute  to  it  in  a 
way ;  nevertheless,  since  art  cannot  represent  the  totality  of 
things,  it  is  obliged  to  choose,  else  it  might  leave  upon  us  in  the 
end  the  impression  of  unrelieved  ugliness.  Hence  it  is  obliged 
to  pass  by  some  part  of  the  reality,  in  order  the  better  to  bring 
out  the  inner  principle  of  beauty,  the  parent  idea  of  form.  It 
always  aims  to  bring  its  scattered  rays  to  a  focus,  in  order  to 
give  prominence  to  the  beautiful.  Hence  also  the  conven- 
tional form  and  mode  of  rhythm,  which  has  no  counterpart  in 
reality;  wherein  art  subjects  to  a  twofold  co-ordination  the 
determining  factors  that  reduce  matter  to  order  and  coherence. 
Rhythm  is  not  a  mere  attempt  to  overcome  a  difficulty,  but  an 
accentuation  of  the  determining,  co-ordinating  form,  without 
which  beauty  is  impossible. 

This  process  of  artistic  abstraction  and  selection  must  not 
be  carried  so  far^as  to  reduce  art  to  a  pure  abstraction.  Since 
art  resides  in  the  form  which  brings  out  the  harmony  of  things, 
it  cannot  be  a  mere  conception,  an  empty  idea.  It  is  neces- 
sarily sustained  by  the  world  of  sensation  ;  hence  it  must  begin 
in  a  reality.  There  is  no  art  without  this  fundamental  realism, 
just  as  there  is  none  in  the  mere  reproduction  of  nature.  The 
purely  fanciful  creations  of  the  imagination  do  not  belong  to  its 
domain.  Chimeras  and  the  colossal  sculptures  of  Buddhism 
are  as  much  exceptions  in  art  as  are  monsters  in  the  cosmos. 
This  necessity  laid  upon  art  to  take  true  nature  as  its  starting 
point,  explains  the  free  scope  which  it  gives  to  imagination  in 
nature.  What  is  needed  is  not  that  simply  reproductive  imagi-1 
nation  which  is  content  to  perpetuate  and  renew  our  sensations, 
but  that  creative  imagination  which  enables  us  to  combine  and 
arrange  them.  This  power  is  essential  to  the  artist. .  On  the 
one  hand,  his  imagination  must  be  strongly  impressed  by 
nature ;  on  the  other,  he  must  possess  the  capacity  to  combine 
its  elements  so  as  to  educe  from  them  a  world  of  beauty  such 
as  unaided  nature  does  not  present. 

We  are  thus  led  to  the  second  characteristic  process  of  art, 


430  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

which  consists  not  only  in  educing  the  beautiful  from  nature, 
but  also  in  enriching  the  type  by  creating  an  ideal  world.  This 
ideal  is  never  a  vague  abstraction.  All  its  elements  are  taken 
from  the  real,  but  art  combines  them  in  such  a  way  that  it 
becomes  really  creative.  Its  creations  are  not  ex  nihilo ;  but 
resemble  those  of  Plato's  Logos  which  sets  the  seal  of  his  ideas 
upon  nature.  Two  things  must  pre-exist  before  art  is  possible. 
There  must  be,  on  the  one  hand,  the  type  of  the  beautiful  in 
the  mind,  and  on  the  other,  nature  with  its  fragments  of  the 
beautiful  scattered  abroad.  By  its  creative  energy,  art  acts 
spontaneously,  and  appeals  to  the  sense  of  freedom  in  man. 
The  beautiful,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  creation,  is  a  setting  free  of 
nature.  To  elicit  the  ideal  of  nature,  and  then  to  organise  a 
world  of  beauty  greater  than  that  which  our  senses  perceive,  is 
to  rise  above  nature  and  break  through  the  fetters  of  necessity. 
We  must  be  on  our  guard,  however,  against  confounding 
this  assertion  of  liberty  with  the  moral  triumph  achieved  in 
the  fulfilment  of  duty.  Just  as  art  is  distinguished  by  its  plastic 
character  from  the  quest  of  the  true  in  which  the  intellect  is 
engaged,  inasmuch  as  it  never  seeks  the  idea  in  itself,  apart 
from  its  visible  embodiment ;  so  is  it  distinguished  from  duty 
inasmuch  as  it  is  in  no  way  obligatory.  Duty  constrains  us ; 
we  are  bound  to  do  it,  cost  what  it  may;  the  right  is  imperative. 
Art,  on  the  contrary,  is  essentially  disinterested.  It  cannot  then 
be  identified  either  with  the  useful  or  the  agreeable.  M. 
Renouvier  says  :  "  Contemplation  is  the  chief  feature  of  art. 
The  part  taken  by  the  intellect  in  the  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful,  by  the  ideas  of  order,  of  arrangement,  of  perfection, 
reduces  the  idea  of  design  to  the  disinterested  state.  It  is 
clear  that-  it  is  never  the  thing  itself  which  touches  us  in  the 
beautiful,  but  the  image,  the  representation.  The  beautiful  is 
always  a  thing  to  be  contemplated  ;  its  object  is  representation 
for  the  sake  of  the  representation.  In  a  word,  neither  the 
agreeable,  nor  the  useful,  nor  the  true,  nor  the  good,  constitutes 
the  beautiful ;  but  all  these  phenomena  enter  into  it  as  elements 


THE  IDEAL.— ART.  431 

in  various  degrees,  on  condition  of  subordinating  themselves 
to  the  representation  taken  in  itself  and  considered  as  its  own 
end."1 

If  art  loses  this  disinterested  character,  if  it  aims  to  be 
something  more  than  a  representation,  if  it  attempts  to  teach 
or  to  preach,  it  goes  beyond  its  competence.  It  is  no  longer 
art ;  it  is  philosophy  or  morals,  and  all  becomes  confusion.  We 
do  not  mean  that  it  escapes  the  direction  of  the  will ;  but  being 
a  manifestation  of  freedom,  it  is  capable  of  abusing  it,  of  failing 
of  its  true  purpose,  of  deserting  the  ideal  and  pandering  to  the 
sensual  by  giving  too  vivid  colouring  to  the  lower  aspect  of 
nature.  Art  has  a  morality  of  its  own,  derived  from  its  true 
intention.  Its  mission  is  not  to  search  out  the  true,  or  to  carry 
out  the  right ;  but  to  represent  the  beautiful,  which  is  the  glory 
of  both.  It  is  open  to  the  artist  therefore,  in  the  vast  field  of 
nature  where  he  is  to  make  his  choice,  to  prefer  that  which 
pleases  the  senses  to  that  which  elevates  the  mind.  Evidently 
this  deviation  of  the  artist  from  his  true  course,  must  have  a 
moral  cause,  for  man's  nature  is  one  and  indivisible.  When 
the  inspiration  of  the  artist  is  noble  and  pure,  it  shows  that  the 
moral  level  of  his  nature  is  elevated  and  purified,  or  at  least 
that  he  belongs  to  a  social  environment  in  which  wholesome  in- 
fluences predominate,  for  no  one  is  more  open  than  he  to  such 
influences,  on  account  of  the  extreme  sensitiveness  which  is 
one  of  the  conditions  of  the  artistic  temperament.  The  dis- 
interestedness of  art  does  not  make  it  irresponsible  ;  and  yet 
without  this  disinterestedness,  art  is  impossible.  The  theory 
that  art  is  its  own  object,  is  true  under  these  limitations. 

The  reader  can  now  judge  how  far  we  admit  Kant's  famous 
theory  enlarged  upon  by  Schiller,  that  art  is  a  mere  pastime. 
It  certainly  is  no  such  thing  as  understood  by  Herbert  Spencer 
and  the  whole  transformist  school.  They  regard  it  as  simply 
an  overflow  of  superabundant  energy,  by  means  of  which  all 
the  faculties  of  the  living  being  are  developed  in  the  way  most 
1  "  Principes  de  Morale,"  Renouvier,  pp.  252,  253. 


432  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

useful  to  him  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  It  is  as  impossible 
to  derive  from  this  definition  the  true  idea  of  the  beautiful 
inseparable  from  an  ideal  element,  as  from  Darwin's  sexual 
selection,  which  deprives  art  of  all  disinterestedness,  since  it 
makes  it  subservient  to  the  strongest  of  the  animal  appetites.1 
The  only  thing  we  accept  in  Kant's  "^Esthetics  "  is  the  disinter- 
ested character  attributed  to  art  so  long  as  it  is  dedicated,  not 
to  the  search  after  the  true  and  the  right,  but  to  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  beautiful,  while  at  the  same  time  it  acquires 
no  right  to  seek  for  the  beautiful  apart  from  the  good  and  the 
true. 

The  idea  of  mere  pastime  or  amusement,  even  thus  under- 
stood, is  far  however  from  exhausting  the  idea  of  art.  We  have 
so  far  drawn  attention  to  two  of  its  principal  ends,  which  are, 
first,  to  elicit  the  beautiful  from  things  and  then  to  create  new 
types  of  beauty,  an  ideal  world  superior  to  the  real  though  based 
upon  it.  It  has  still  a  third  purpose  to  fulfil,  namely,  by  the 
mere  fact  of  the  comparison  between  the  real  and  the  ideal 
world  (not  only  the  ideal  world  which  it  creates,  but  also  that 
which  it  conceives),  to  give  peculiar  emphasis  to  the  contrast. 
We  must  not  forget  that  all  the  faculties  are  brought  into  play 
in  the  work  of  the  artist,  on  condition  that  they  are  all  subordi- 
nated to  his  particular  object.  The  reason  and  the  will  have 
both  an  unquestionable  share  in  it;  feeling  comes  in  still  more 
directly,  by  the  rapid,  instantaneous  intuition  which  is  called 
inspiration,  and  by  the  strong  effect  produced  upon  it  by  the 
beautiful.  This  effect  is  never  greater  than  when  art  is  not 
content  with  making  us  admire  the  beautiful  as  perceived  in 
things  or  above  things,  but  when  it  brings  out  with  its  magic 
of  expression  the  sharp  contrast  between  the  realities  around 
and  the  type  of  the  eternal  beauty  within  us.  It  is  on  this 
essential  point  that  the  sestheticism  of  Hegel,  otherwise  so  full 
and  suggestive,  shows  itself  so  incomplete.  Pantheistic  ideal- 
ism recognises  no  ideal  outside  nature ;  everything  in  nature 
1  "  Descent  of  Man. "  Darwin. 


THE  IDEAL.— ART.  433 

is,  or  rather  becomes,  perfect  in  the  evolution  of  the  divine 
idea.  Beauty  is  the  reconciliation  of  mind  and  matter.  There 
is  nothing  higher  to  seek.1  The  sublime  is  then  nothing  more 
than  the  exaltation  of  natural  beauty,  the  idea  breaking  through 
its  first  form  to  prepare  for  itself  another  and  more  adequate 
form.  No  one  has  given  more  marvellous  rendering  than 
Goethe  to  this  pantheistic  conception  of  nature.  He  says  : 
"  Nature  is  the  unique  artist ;  each  of  its  works  has  its  own 
type,  and  all  form  a  part  of  the  unity.  All  men  are  in  nature, 
and  nature  is  in  all  men.  Life  is  one  everlasting  Becoming ; 
even  that  which  seems  against  nature  is  still  nature.  Its  drama 
is  always  new,  because  it  has  always  new  spectators.  Life  is 
its  most  beautiful  discovery,  and  death  is  for  it  the  means  of 
multiplying  life.  It  has  no  speech  nor  language.  Its  crown 
is  love.  It  rewards  and  punishes  itself.  It  is  fierce  and 
gentle,  kind  and  terrible,  powerless  and  supreme.  In  it  is 
everything  at  all  times.  It  knows  no  past,  no  future ;  the 
present  is  its  eternity.  It  is  beauty.  I  glorify  it  for  all  its 
works.  I  trust  myself  to  it ;  I  say  nothing  of  it ;  for  it  has 
uttered  the  false  as  well  as  the  true.  Everything  is  its  fault ; 
everything  is  its  praise."  2 

This  theory  is  not  true  to  fact.  There  is  an  entire  aspect  of 
art  which  cannot  be  included  in  this  naturalism,  poetical  as 
it  is.  We  find  in  this  domain,  as  in  others,  the  aspiration  of 
the  human  heart  which  is  never  satisfied,  the  bitter  sense  of 
incompleteness  and  contradictoriness  in  the  natural  world. 

1  See  Hegel's  "  ^Esthetik."     M.  Adolphe  Pietet,   in  his   book,    "  Le 
Beau  dans  la  Nature  et  la  Poesie,   Etude  Esthetique,"  comes  very  near  to 
Hegel's  point  of  view,  for  he  holds  the  mission  of  art  to  be  simply  to  free 
the  divine  idea  from  the  form  in  which  it  is  latent.     He  says  :    "  The 
beautiful  in  nature  is  the  proximate  and  free  manifestation  of  the  divine 
idea,  revealing  itself  by  sensible  forms." — p.  82.     M.  Taine,  in  his  book, 
"L'Ideal  dans  1'Art,"  is  still  more  realistic ;  for  art,  according  to  him,  only 
underlines  nature,  giving  prominence  by  suitable  combinations  to  such  of 
its  leading  features  as  are  at  once  important  and  beneficial. 

2  "Complete  Works."    Goethe. 

F   F 


434  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

The  comic  element  alone,  which  plays  so  large  a  part  in  art, 
suffices  to  show  that  this  sense  of  contradiction  cannot  be 
confounded  with  a  mere  aspiration  after  the  development  of  na- 
tural beauty,  for  the  comic  has  in  its  depths  an  undertone  of 
mortal  sadness,  though  it  may  play  on  the  surface  with  spark- 
ling gaiety,  and  irresistibly  provoke  to  mirth.  It  is  based 
primarily  upon  the  recognised  contradiction  between  that 
which  is  and  that  which  ought  to  be.  It  is,  after  all,  only  the 
counterpart  of  the  tragic  and  pathetic  inspiration  which  has  so 
often  made  the  heart-strings  vibrate  even  to  breaking.  Plato 
has  given  immortal  utterance  in  his  "  Phcedrus  "  to  this  aspect 
of  art  "  The  soul,"  he  says,  "  still  full  of  the  memory  of  the 
holy  things  which  it  beheld  in  the  world  whence  it  came,  when 
it  sees  any  one  having  a  god-like  face  or  form,  is  amazed  and 
stricken  with  awe.  And  when  it  beholds  true  beauty,  it  is 
transported  and  enraptured ;  for  there  is  no  inherent  light  in 
the  earthly  copies  of  justice  or  temperance  or  any  of  the  higher 
qualities  which  are  precious  to  souls  ;  they  are  seen  through  a 
glass  dimly ;  and  there  are  few  who,  going  to  the  images, 
behold  through  them  the  realities,  and  they  only  with  diffi- 
culty." l 

This  recollection  or  foreshadowing  of  the  ideal  world  for 
which  we  are  made,  is  never  more  strongly  revived  than  by 
that  exceptional  manifestation  of  the  beautiful  which  we  call 
the  sublime.  The  sublime  is  not  simply  the  beautiful  in  its 
highest  degree;  if  so,  it  would  only  be  the  most  perfect  ot 
harmonies.  Its  peculiar  characteristic  is,  that  it  breaks  with 
a  sudden  burst  the  harmony  of  things  as  we  perceive  it.  It 
does  not  strike  us  as  contrary  to  order,  incoherent,  monstrous ; 
it  is  the  extraordinary,  and  hence  it  speaks  to  us  of  a  beauty 
higher  than  that  of  this  world,  an  irradiation  from  a  higher 
sphere.  In  nature  the  sublime  in  repose  is  grandeur,  the 
vastness  which  calls  up  before  us  visions  of  the  infinite  and 
seems  to  throw  down  the  barriers  which  our  aspirations  could 
1  Plato's  "Dialogues." 


THE  IDEAL.- -ART.  435 

not  pass.  Hence  the  emotion  we  experience  when  we  look  up 
into  the  great  vault  of  heaven;  or  on  snowy  mountain  peaks. 
The  roar  of  the  angry  ocean,  the  rush  of  the  tempest,  produce 
in  us  the  same  impression,  because  they  give  us  glimpses  of  a 
power  which  knows  no  bounds.  Before  these  various  aspects 
of  the  sublime  in  nature,  we  feel  ourselves  at  once  overwhelmed 
and  uplifted ;  our  hearts  sink  only  to  rise  higher  in  the  sense 
of  freedom.  In  the  human  order,  the  sublime  is  the  highest 
inspiration  ;  with  one  stroke  of  the  wing  it  raises  the  poet  to 
heights  which  by  no  continued  effort  he  could  ever  climb.  It 
reveals  to  him  a  higher  order  of  liberty  than  anything  he 
knows,  and  lifts  him  into  a  world  where  all  the  fetters  fall  from 
his  spirit.  From  a  moral  point  of  view,  the  sublime  is  the 
heroism  by  which  man  is  consciously  raised  for  an  hour  to  the 
height  of  his  own  ideal  of  devotion.  The  sublime  is,  so  to 
speak,  the  supernatural  element  of  the  beautiful ;  it  is  the  swift 
lightning  which,  flashing  through  our  night,  rends  the  clouds, 
and  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the  eternal  idea  in  its  perfect  realisa- 
tion. Hence,  while  it  enlightens  it  consumes  us,  and  excites 
the  unquenchable  thirst  after  the  ideal. 

Art,  thus  regarded,  may  find  a  place  even  for  ugliness,  pro- 
vided it  never  reproduces  it  for  its  own  sake,  but  simply  with 
a  view  to  enhance  the  beautiful  by  contrast ;  or  with  the  inten- 
tion of  bringing  out  more  forcibly  the  imperfection  of  our 
actual  condition.  True  human  art  cannot  be  simply  a  serene 
and  ever  smiling  denizen  of  Olympus.  Great  lyrical  and  dra- 
matic poetry  is  the  graphic  representation  of  the  story  of  our 
crimes  and  sorrows,  our  repentings,  our  high  and  baffled  aspira- 
tions. "  Humanity,"  says  Ozanam,  "  has  given  itself  no  spec- 
tacle but  that  of  its  own  griefs.  I  cease  to  wonder  that  it  has 
never  wearied  of  it.  It  loves  to  look  upon  and  touch  its 
wounds,  even  if  by  so  doing  it  makes  them  bleed  afresh  ; 
therefore  we  are  never  satisfied  unless  we  find  tears  in  the 
draught  of  poetry." 

It  is  evident  then,  that  if  in  one  sense  art  is  a  pastime,  it  is 


436  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

never  a  trifling  pastime.  It  justifies  the  profound  saying  of 
Pliny  the  Elder  about  man,  to  which  we  attach  a  meaning 
beyond  that  which  it  originally  conveyed  :  "Flens  animal  im- 
peraturum."  For  all  his  kingly  destiny,  man  weeps  ;  and  there 
can  be  no  stronger  proof  that,  if  he  is  the  end,  the  object,  the 
crown  of  the  world,  the  world  is  not  his  end,  since  he  can  at 
once  govern  it  and  sigh  for  something  beyond.  A  strange 
animal  indeed  is  man !  Shall  we  not  rather  say  that  he  is 
something  greater  and  better,  and  that  no  materialistic  theories 
can  avail  to  imprison  in  the  cage  of  naturalism  this  "  wounded 
eagle  with  eyes  ever  turned  towards  the  light "  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 
RELIGION,  ITS  NATURE  AND  ORIGIN. 

I.  THE  NATURE  OF  RELIGION. 

WE  have  seen  all  the  faculties  of  man  pointing  up  to  God. 
His  speculative  reason,  which,  by  virtue  of  the  principle  of 
causation,  impels  him  to  seek  the  first  cause  of  things,  and 
gives  him  the  intuition  of  the  universal,  the  infinite,  would  be 
doomed  to  a  progression  without  an  end  and  consequently 
without  reality,  if  it  did  not  lead  up  to  this  primal,  universal 
Cause,  this  living  Infinite,  to  which  the  spectacle  and  the 
study  of  the  cosmos  conducts  it  by  a  chain  of  irresistible 
argument.  His  practical  reason,  which  rests  upon  the  principle 
of  obligation,  constrains  him  to  rise  to  the  law  written  upon 
the  conscience  and  to  the  Legislator  Himself,  to  the  Eternal, 
Absolute  Good.  His  heart,  with  its  infinite  craving  for  love, 
demands  it.  He  seeks  in  everything  the  ideal,  the  fully 
realised  harmony  of  things.  Human  art,  after  revealing  to 
us  by  the  lightning  flash  of  the  sublime,  the  lofty  sphere  of 
the  highest  beauty,  proclaims  it  to  be  divine  by  its  own  fail- 
ure to  realise  it  in  its  highest  efforts.  All  the  avenues  of  the 
soul,  so  to  speak,  lead  up  to  God  Himself.  The  metaphysical, 
the  moral,  the  affective  life,  all  that  is  bright,  terminates  in 
the  divine ;  that  is  to  say,  there  is  not  one  of  our  faculties 
which  is  not,  in  its  highest  aspect,  religious.  And  yet  religion, 
in  its  essence,  is  not  identical  with  any  one  of  these,  and  is 
not  content  to  be  merely  their  highest  generalisation.  No  \ 
religion  is  in  itself  neither  metaphysics,  nor  morals,  nor 

437 


438  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

Aesthetics,  nor  njere  emotion.  The  metaphysician  may 
be  mighty  in  establishing  by  argument  the  existence  of  a 
God,  and  yet  may  not  be  religious ;  the  theologian  may 
elaborate  an  admirable  theodicy  and  yet  be  a  profane  man. 
An  austere  practical  moralist  may,  with  all  his  virtue,  make 
God  secondary  to  himself  in  his  life,  and  only  cherish,  like  the 
Stoics,  a  proud  satisfaction  in  his  own  merits.  No  one  will 
deny  that  the  artist  may  make  his  canvas  glow  and  breathe 
with  a  divine  ideal,  and  yet,  like  Raphael,  lay  his  art  at  the 
feet  of  a  human  idol.  '  The  heart  may  be  rapt  in  mystical 
ecstasy  and  yet  fail  to  fulfil  the  law  of  purity  and  holiness. 
Between  sentimentality  and  charity,  the  interval  is  often  im- 
mense. Even  devotion  is  not  religion.  Religion  is  some- 
thing special,  unique ;  it  is,  as  its  name  indicates,  the  bond 
which  unites  man  to  God,  the  source  of  his  being ;  it  is  the 
striving,  the  tending  towards  Him.  In  a  word,  religion  is  life 
for  God,  with  God,  in  God.  We  say  life,  because  this  word 
comprehends  the  whole  of  man,  not  one  particular  sphere  of 
his  existence.  To  isolate  religion,  to  set  it  apart  under  pretext 
of  exalting  it,  to  make  it  consist  in  certain  acts,  certain  senti- 
ments, and  to  dissociate  it  from  all  the  rest  of  our  life,  is  the 
very  essence  of  all  Pharisaism  and  worldly  devoteeism.  To 
allot  a  certain  part  of  our  life  to  God,  reserving  the  rest  to 
ourselves,  is  to  rob  Him  of  that  which  is  His  due,  namely,  the 
whole  man,  who,  without  maiming  his  existence,  without  quell- 
ing or  repressing  one  of  his  faculties,  should  live  in  God,  by 
Him  and  for  Him,  and  cannot  be  truly  religious  short  of  this. 
Religion  is  then  a  general  pervading  tendency  of  the  soul, 
which,  while  it  appropriates  the  divine  elements  contained  in 
speculative  and  practical  reason,  and  in  feeling,  makes  them 
all  converge  to  one  end — life  in  God.  •  This  is  the  subjective 
aspect  of  religion  ;  but  religion  is  something  more  than  merely 
a  tending  Godvvards,  and  a  striving  to  reach  Him,  for,  to  give 
it  reality,  it  must  find  that  which  it  seeks.  Religion  is  only 
real  if  the  relation  between  God  and  the  soul  has  been  truly 


RELIGION,    ITS  NATURE  AND    ORIGIN.  439 

formed,  if  there  is  not  only  aspiration  after  Him  but  the 
possession  of  Him.  Man  tending  towards  God,  God  giving 
Himself  to  man  ;'  this  is  religion  ;  anything  short  of  this  is 
only  a  delusive  semblance.  Thus  understood,  its  truest  and 
highest  realisation  is  prayer,  which  mysteriously  but  really 
unites  the  soul  to  its  Author  and  makes  him  drink  deep 
draughts  of  the  higher  life  at  its  true  source.  Prayer  is  not 
simply  exalted  feeling,  the  utterance  of  sacred  words  ;  it  is 
primarily  a  striving,  an  act,  an  offering,  a  consecration  of  the 
whole  being  to  God.  While  it  is  concentrated  therefore  in  the 
verbal  utterance  of  the  heart  to  God,  it  does  not  end  there. 
Taccns  loquitur.  When  the  lips  are  silent  the  life  itself  prays  ; 
and  such  prayer  is  offered  whenever  an  inspiration  of  adora- 
tion and  obedience  raises  it  above  the  earth.  Man,  who  is  the 
crown  of  creation  and  its  epitome,  consecrates  it  in  his  own 
person  to  the  Author  of  all  things.  He  is  the  high  priest  of 
the  world,  which  he  represents  before  God,  and  which  he  lays 
at  His  feet  whenever  he  himself  kneels  to  pray.  He  is  thus 
the  link  between  the  higher  and  the  lower  world,  binding  all 
creation  to  its  source,  to  which  he  himself  returns,  not  to  be 
absorbed  in  the  vague  infinite  of  pantheism,  but  to  realise  the 
highest  union  between  the  created  and  the  uncreated.  Religion 
thus  appears  as  the  ultimate  design  of  all  this  universe,  for 
there  can  be  no  higher  end  than  this  free  return  of  the  created 
to  the  uncreated,  the  divine. 

That  this  is  indeed  the  true  ideal  of  religion,  is  evidenced 
by  all  its  higher  manifestations  in  the  history  of  humanity, 
and  by  all  its  aspirations,  however  dim  and  alloyed.  If  we 
look  at  all  the  great  religious  heroes,  we  shall  find  that  the 
secret  of  their  high  spiritual  power  was  just  the  unity  of  their 
religious  life,  the  constant  effort  to  live  in  God  and  for  God, 
to  consecrate  to  Him  all  their  faculties,  all  their  efforts. 
Prayer  forms  an  important  element  in  their  life,  yet  it  does 
not  interfere  with  the  consuming  zeal  often  displayed  by  them 
in  carrying  into  all  spheres  the  divine  life  overflowing  their 


440  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

own  hearts.  The  Acts  of  the  Apostles  shows  us  this  fruitful 
unity  of  the  life,  now  concentrating  itself  in  prayer,  now 
diffusing  itself  in  action.  Jesus  Christ  Himself  is  the  perfect 
type  of  a  life  unreservedly  consecrated  to  God.  In  Him, 
religion  is  His  very  life.  All  His  faculties,  all  His  acts 
combine  in  one  constant  effort  to  be  wholly  God's,  and  to 
do  all  for  Him.1  This  conception  of  religion  sets  aside  all 
the  exclusive  notions  which  limit  it  to  the  exercise  of  one 
faculty,  whether  metaphysical  reason,  or  practical  reason,  or 
feeling.  Current  orthodoxy  makes  religion  to  consist  in  the 
supernatural  communication  of  a  sort  of  divine  philosophy 
filling  up  the  gaps  of  our  human  reason.  Hegelian  idealism, 
which  is  the  opposite  extreme,  defines  religion  to  be  the 
knowledge  which  the  finite  mind  possesses  of  its  essence  as 
absolute  mind,  when  it  has  reached  that  point  of  eternal  and 
incessant  Becoming,  in  which  the  Idea,  before  dispersed 
and  subdivided  in  things,  begins  to  apprehend  itself  in  man, 
before  attaining  its  full  enfranchisement  in  philosophy. 
Hegelianism,  starting  from  such  premisses,  has  not  succeeded 
in  tracing  any  distinct  line  of  demarcation  between  religion 
and  metaphysics.  Kant  reduces  religion  to  simple  morality. 
God  only  appears  as  the  prop  of  morality  or  its  postulate. 
Moral  obligation  derives  everything  from  itself;  the  law  of 
duty  never  goes  beyond  the  abstract,  and  fails  to  connect 
our  life  with  God,  who  is  simply  the  guardian  and  overseer 
of  duty.  His  part  is  to  reward  the  fulfilment  of  duty  and  to 
punish  its  violation.  He  does  not  give  us  more  help  than  we 
ask.-  Schleiermacher  makes  religion  to  consist  primarily  in 
feeling.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  at  the  time  when  his  essays 
on  religion  appeared  they  produced  a  healthy  reaction  against 
the  supernaturalistic  rationalism  which  was  content  with 
barren  formulas.  Nor  must  it  be  forgotten  that  Schleier- 

1  See  M.   Charles   Secretan's    suggestive    article,    "Le    Positivisme," 
"  Revue  Philosophique,"  March,  1881. 

2  "  La  Philosophic  de  la  Religion  de  Kant."    Philippe  Bridel. 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND  ORIGIN.  441 

macher,  in  his  system  of  doctrine,  enlarged  his  first  standpoint 
by  connecting  Christianity  with  the  person  of  Christ,  and  thus 
recognising  the  historical  fact.  His  fundamental  conception 
of  religion  is,  however,  still  too  exclusive,  because  he  does  not 
give  sufficient  scope  to  the  moral  element.  Reduced  to  a 
feeling  of  absolute  dependence,  religion  verges  on  Spinozism. 
It  is  in  danger  of  becoming  mere  absorption  of  the  finite  in 
the  impersonal  infinite,  and  of  terminating  in  a  system  of 
pantheistic  metaphysics ;  it  supplies  no  principle  or  power  of 
action.  It  is  needful,  then,  to  broaden  Schleiermacher's 
conception  so  as  to  make  it  embrace  all  our  faculties,  by 
giving  them  God,  not  simply  as  an  object,  but  also  as  an  end 
and  aim,  which  implies  an  active  tendency,  effort,  a  positive 
relation  to  Him. 

It  is  no  contradiction  to  recognise  the  share  of  all  our 
faculties  in  religion,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  to  give  pre- 
dominance to  that  intuition  of  the  divine  without  which  we 
should  never  arrive  at  it.  In  fact,  the  very  nature  of  its  living 
object  requires  that  our  intuitive  and  moral  faculties  should 
occupy  the  first  place.  Intuition  is  not  confined  to  feeling. 
We  have  shown  how  it  forms  the  basis  alike  of  speculative 
and  practical  reason.  What  is  it,  after  all,  but  that  initial  act 
of  faith  by  which  we  apprehend  in  everything  the  first  principles 
on  which  depends  the  chain  of  secondary  effects  which  logic 
unrolls  to  us  ?  By  this  intuition,  speculative  reason  arrives  at 
the  cause  of  causes,  the  universal,  infinite  causation.  Practical 
reason  rises  to  the  absolute  good,  and  the  heart  to  the  equally 
absolute  Personality  who  is  the  object  of  its  aspiration,  before 
He  becomes  the  satisfaction  of  man's  infinite  craving  for  love. 
That  which  is  called  the  sense  of  the  divine  does  not  belong 
then  solely  to  the  domain  of  feeling,  but  implies  that  threefold 
intuition  which  becomes  one  in  the  mind ;  for,  as  we  have 
repeatedly  said,  this  division  is  only  a  condition  of  abstract 
thought,  without  which  any  psychological  analysis  would  be 
impossible.  It  is  to  this  primal  intuition,  which  is,  as  it  were, 


442  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

the  trunk  from  which  spring  the  branches  of  speculative  rea- 
son, practical  reason,  and  feeling,  that  we  owe  the  sense  of 
the  divine,  of  the  absolute  or  the  infinite.  The  unity  of  man 
consists  in  this  threefold  intuition  of  the  divine,  since  the 
God  whom  it  directly  reveals  to  us,  is  at  once  absolute  reason, 
absolute  good,  and  perfect  love.  It  follows,  that  in  order  to 
be  united  to  Him,  we  ought  to  know,  obey,  and  love  Him. 

We  can  now  understand  how  impossible  it  is  to  divorce 
religion  from  morality,  distinct  as  we  hold  them  to  be.  In 
the  exalted  sphere  of  the  religious  life,  as  in  all  the  psychical 
life  of  man,  it  is  the  will  which  has  the  chief  share  in  raising 
us  to  the  fulness  of  conscious  life.  The  primary  intuitions 
which  constitute  the  sense  of  the  divine  exist  first  in  an 
instinctive,  passive,  almost  impersonal  state.  It  is  the  will 
which  raises  them  to  conscious  life.  The  relation  of  man  to 
God  becomes  thus  a  free,  voluntary  relation,  and  passes  from 
the  simplicity  of  childhood  into  moral  manhood.  Here  again 
it  is  natural  to  man  to  seek  his  own  highest  development. 
Religious  by  instinct,  he  is  to  become  so  by  free  choice,  and 
this  free  choice  is  the  great  act  of  his  moral  life.  Hence  the 
sense  of  responsibility  to  God,  inseparable  from  the  sense  of 
moral  obligation.  The  moral  law  becomes  identified  in  his 
mind  with  the  essential  law  of  his  being,  which  is,  that  he  join 
himself  to  God,  to  love  and  obey  Him.  It  is  to  Him  man 
feels  himself  answerable ;  he  feels  that  in  all  his  moral  defal- 
cations it  is  against  God  he  has  sinned. 

This  close  union  of  morality  with  religion,  while  it  is  an 
indisputable  fact,  has  been  objected  to  on  the  ground  that  it 
gives  to  the  law  of  moral  obligation  an  external  character 
which  renders  it  arbitrary,  the  moral  authority  no  longer 
coming  from  within  but  seeming  to  be  exercised  from  without. 
The  objection  ceases  if  we  admit  that  man  stands  in  an 
original  primordial  relation  with  God,  that  all  the  roots  of  his 
nature  lay  hold  of  God,  that  in  the  depths  of  his  being  he 
belongs  so  completely  to  God  that  that  which  is  most  human 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND  ORIGIN.  443 

in  him,  is  that  which  is  most  divine.  The  divine  law  cannot 
then  any  longer  be  spoken  of  as  a  law  outside  the  man  ;  it 
presents  itself  rather  as  the  most  fundamental  law  of  human 
nature.  Religion  is  so  natural  to  man,  that  it  is  his  nature. 
What  distinction  can  there  really  be  between  natural  and 
revealed  religion  ?  The  first  of  all  revelations  to  man,  is  his 
own  soul,  as  it  is  constituted  by  his  relationship  to  God.  If 
a  second  revelation  comes  to  him,  it  is  only  possible  through 
the  first,  which  it  reawakens  into  life.  Religion  is  not  some- 
thing superadded  to  man  by  a  special  gift ;  man  is  only 
man  in  so  far  as  he  is  religious.  The  identification  of  morality 
with  religion,  then,  in  no  way  deprives  the  former  of  that 
intuitive  primordial  character  which  distinguishes  it  from  any- 
thing arbitrary.  This  essential  relationship  of  man  to  God, 
which  is  to  become  a  free  and  voluntary  relationship,  implies 
not  only  the  conception  of  the  infinite  but  also  of  a  future  life. 
This  is  implicitly  contained  in  it,  although  it  may  sometimes 
remain  altogether  latent  or  be  very  dimly  apprehended,  as  in 
Judaism.  To  believe  in  the  Absolute,  to  feel  drawn  to  unite 
oneself  to  Him  by  love  and  aspiration — and  this  under  con- 
ditions of  existence  which  condemn  us  to  humiliation  and 
imperfection— this  is,  in  truth,  to  look  to  another  life  beyond 
this  imperfect  existence  for  the  true  fulfilment  of  man's  destiny, 
and  to  reach  forth  after  it  with  all  the  soul's  yearnings.  The 
moral  law,  moreover,  would  lack  any  adequate  sanction,  if 
there  were  not  another  life  than  the  present,  in  which  injustice 
so  often  triumphs. 

From  this  analysis  of  religion  we  gather  that  its  essential 
elements  are : — 

First. — The  intuition  of  the  infinite  by  all  our  faculties — 
speculative  reason,  practical  reason,  and  feeling. 

Second. — The  indissoluble  union  of  moral  and  religious 
feeling. 

Third.— Faith  in  a  future  life  and  its  righteous  retributions. 

Nor  is  this  all.     This   analysis  would  suffice  if  one   were 


444  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

treating  of  religion  in  itself  realised  in  harmony  with  its  own 
law ;  but  it  is  not  thus  that  it  presents  itself  to  us  in  its  human 
development.  I  do  not  touch  at  all  on  the  problem  of  the 
origin  of  evil  from  a  doctrinal  point  of  view.  I  simply  look 
at  the  manifestations  of  the  religious  feeling  as  we  find  them 
universally  over  our  world.  Now,  one  thing  is  certain  and 
self-evident — that  this  feeling  does  not  express  merely  the 
tendency  to  form  and  to  sustain  a  close  relation  with  God,  but 
also  the  painful  and  arduous  effort  to  restore  that  broken 
relation.  Mankind  is  strongly  possessed  with  the  feeling  that 
there  is  a  Deity  to  be  appeased ;  whether  rightly  or  wrongly, 
it  feels  that  it  must  get  reconciled  to  this  mysterious  power. 
This  is  the  meaning  of  those  sacrificial  altars  reeking  often 
with  human  blood,  which  we  find  in  all  lands  ;  this  is  the 
burden  of  heathen  rites,  often  cruel  and  abominable,  but  none 
the  less  expressing  the  human  need  of  reconciliation  and 
expiation,  with  an  intensity  of  despair  amounting  almost  to 
madness.  How  can  we  account  for  this  tragic  element  of 
religion,  which  is  not  an  accidental.,  transitory,  intermittent 
fact,  but  one  common  to  the  race  of  man  ? 

It  is  upon  this  point  that  the  theory  of  evolution,  applied  to 
religion,  proves  incapable  of  giving  a  sufficient  reason  for  an 
undeniable  fact.  We  are  not  speaking,  for  the  moment,  of 
transformist  evolution,  which  makes  religion,  morality,  mind, 
life,  all  mere  transformations  of  energy.  We  shall  look  more 
closely  presently  into  its  explanation  of  the  origin  of  the  re- 
ligious feeling.  We  are  now  referring  to  those  noble  thinkers, 
as  true  spiritualists  as  ourselves,  who  look  upon  the  history  of 
religion  in  humankind  as  a  merely  normal  development ;  the 
succession  of  the  various  ages  of  the  race  rising  from  infancy 
into  maturity.  From  this  point  of  view,  the  piercing  cry  which 
rises  from  all  temples,  because  from  the  depths  of  the  heart  of 
man,  is  inexplicable.  This  is  brought  out  very  clearly  in  two 
important  works  recently  published  on  this  subject,  which  set 
forth  the  development  theory.  The  first  is  Otto  Pflenderer's 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  445 

remarkable  work,  "  Die  Religion,  ihr  Wesen  und  ihre 
Geschichte,"  the  other  is  M.  Reville's  "  Prolegomcnes  de 
1'Histoire  de  la  Religion." 

Pflenderer,  like  Hegel  (from  whom  however  he  differs  on 
more  than  one  important  point),  regards  religion  as  the  true 
idea  of  the  world,  which  is  the  reconcilation  of  the  finite  with 
the  infinite.  In  man  this  is  carried  on  by  a  slowly  progressive 
development  Like  all  that  lives,  he  has  a  fundamental 
tendency  to  the  maximum  of  being.  In  the  animal  this 
tendency  is  expressed  in  sensation.  In  man  it  is  identified 
with  the  effort  by  which  his  personality  is  constituted,  and  it 
is  directly  accompanied  by  the  feeling  of  his  imperfection  or 
rather  limitation.  Hence  he  is  constantly  urged  on  to  seek 
adequate  satisfaction,  an  infinite  satisfaction,  in  an  object 
corresponding  to  himself,  which  can  be  no  other  than  God. 
Religion  consists  in  the  reconciliation  of  this  twofold  tendency^ 
implicitly  contained  in  the  original  tendency  towards  being. 
The  personality  only  asserts  itself  with  a  view  to  break  through 
its  limitations  and  unite  itself  to  the  infinite.  Thus,  liberty 
and  the  feeling  of  dependence  are  reconciled.  Religion  has  its 
seat  in  that  deep  region  of  being  called  by  the  Germans  the 
"Gemiith"  but  it  is  also  to  develop  itself  in  the  various  spheres 
of  the  psychical  life,  which  comprehend  thought  and  the  will. 
This  development  is  progressive,  it  passes  through  successive 
phases,  which  are  as  necessary  as  the  various  ages  of  life.  In 
the  intellectual  domain,  religion  begins  with  the  myth,  then  rises 
to  the  idea,  the  dogma,  and  becomes  scholasticism  or  dogmatic 
theology.  Recognising  presently  that  it  must  embrace  intuition, 
it  concludes  by  a  broad  scientific  synthesis,  in  which  all  the 
elements  of  our  being  find  a  place.  In  the  sphere  of  ethics,  after 
an  initial  phase  in  which  morality  and  religion  are  still  separated, 
as  in  Stoicism,  we  arrive  also  in  the  end  at  a  comprehensive  syn- 
thesis. Worship  calls  forth  the  social  and  collective  character 
of  humanity,  and  gives  full  satisfaction  to  the  religious  feeling 
by  symbols  becoming  ever  purer.  The  idea  of  the  cosmos, 


446  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

which  finds  its  highest  expression  in  man,  is  most  powerfully 
realised  in  worship,  by  prayer  and  sacrifice.  Worship,  raised  to 
its  highest  degree  of  spirituality,  truly  unites  the  finite  to  the 
Infinite  Spirit,  and  appeases  without  silencing  the  inherent 
craving  of  our  nature  for  full  and  true  life. 

Starting  from  these  principles  Pflenderer  describes  the  re- 
ligious development  of  mankind  by  a  very  ingenious  classifica- 
tion of  the  great  religions  which  form  the  steps  of  one  con- 
tinuous upward  progress.  Religion,  thus  represented,  is  simply 
the  realisation  of  our  higher  destiny ;  for  the  sense  of  evil  is 
identified  with  that  of  limitation,  and  so  becomes  a  part  of  the 
essential  conditions  of  our  being.  M.  Reville's  theories,  ex- 
plained with  masterly  clearness  and  high-toned  thought,  lead  to 
the  same  result  because  they  are  based  on  the  same  principle. 
He  says  :  "  Religion  is  the  determination  of  the  human  life  by 
the  consciousness  of  the  bond  uniting  the  human  mind  to  the 
mysterious  Mind,  whose  governance  it  recognises  in  the  world 
and  in  itself,  and  with  which  it  comes  to  feel  itself  united.1 
The  history  of  religion  is  nothing  else  than  the  progressive 
development,  under  various  forms,  of  this  elementary  feeling, 
from  the  first  rude  outline  to  its  final  expansion.  "This 
principle  of  development,"  says  the  author,  "  is  in  its  essence 
only  the  application  to  human  history  of  the  principle  of  con- 
tinuity, which  is  being  ever  more  gloriously  vindicated  by  the 
researches  of  modem  science  in  every  direction.  It  is  in- 
creasingly evident  that  there  is  an  unbroken  chain  of  interde- 
pendence running  through  all  things,  that  there  is  an  inherent 
logical  connexion  between  realities  that  present  at  first  sight 
only  disparity.  Every  development  supposes  a  primitive  germ, 
which  unfolds  itself,  grows,  and  tends  to  connect  man  with  the 
Eternal  Spirit.  All  religion,  in  all  its  various  manifestations, 
from  the  lowest  to  the  highest,  is  but  the  necessary  evolution 
of  this  primordial  instinct."2 

Without  calling  in  question  the  element  of  truth  contained 
1  "  Prolegomenes,"  Reville,  p.  34.  8  Ibid.,  p.  33. 


RELIGION,    ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  447 

in  this  conception  of  religion,  which  is  primarily  and  essen- 
tially an  endeavour  at  union  between  the  finite  and  the  Infinite 
mind,  we  cannot  accept  it  as  a  sufficient  explanation  of  the 
religious  fact  regarded  in  its  actual  conditions.  We  repeat, 
we  are  not  contending  for  the  dogma  of  any  Church,  but 
simply  for  the  recognition  of  positive  facts.  Now,  we  have 
seen  that  all  religions  express,  not  only  the  sense  of  limitation, 
but  that  of  a  great  wrong  to  be  set  right,  of  a  reconciliation  to 
be  effected,  a  restoration  to  be  sought.  We  cannot  attempt 
here  even  to  sketch  the  history  of  the  rise  and  growth  of  these 
various  religions.  We  look  simply  at  clear,  universal  manifes- 
tations of  the  religious  feeling,  such  as  sacrifice  and  the  priest- 
hood. M.  Re'ville  asserts  that  sacrifice,  in  its  original  form, 
was  simply  an  offering  designed  favourably  to  dispose  the 
Deity  towards  the  worshipper.1  It  is  with  this  intention  that 
the  worshipper  offers  food.  Yet  the  author  himself  acknow- 
ledges that  man  seeks  in  his  offering  rather  the  means  to  re- 
establish the  union  between  himself  and  the  Deity,  and  that 
in  the  end  he  comes  to  attach  to  it  an  expiatory  value.  He 
says :  "  When  man  represents  the  Divinity  to  himself,  no 
longer  merely  as  the  distributor  of  physical  good  and  ill, 
but  also  as  the  guardian,  the  avenger  of  the  divine  law,  the 
reflector  of  the  remorse  which  wrings  the  conscience,  this 
Divinity  can  only  be  appeased  by  a  special  or  expiatory 
sacrifice,  the  idea  of  which  survives  all  the  rest  and  bequeathes 
a  dogma  io  Christianity." 2  I  know,  indeed,  that  M.  Reville 
regards  this  conception  of  sacrifice  as  only  a  transient  phase 
of  the  moral  evolution,  which  has  no  corresponding  reality, 
else  he  would  see  something  more  than  mere  normal  develop- 
ment in  our  religious  history.  If  the  felt  need  of  expiation  is 
based  upon  a  reality,  there  has  been  not  only  evolution  but 
a  violation  of  the  law  of  things ;  there  has  been  disorder, 
a  rupture  of  the  normal  relation  between  man  and  God. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  this  is  what  the  conscience  acknowledges, 
1  "  Prolegomenes,"  Reville,  p.  179.  *  Ibid. 


448  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

even  in  its  most  barbarous  rites.  I  adduce  only  one  proof 
of  this — the  sublime  hymn  of  the  Vedas,  quoted  by  Max 
Miiller  as  the  penitential  psalm  of  the  Aryans.  This  comes 
to  us  as  the  echo  of  the  most  ancient  religion  of  which  our 
rude  forefathers  had  become  conscious,  and  it  truly  expresses 
the  universal  human  feeling,  for  the  very  same  plaint  rolls  its 
long  echoes  through  the  vaults  of  all  the  temples  and  ascends 
to  heaven  with  the  blood  of  all  the  victims.  It  is  the  Kyrie 
Eleison,  not  only  of  the  ancient  East,  but  of  the  sin-stained  and 
suffering  world  of  to-day.  "  Grant," — says  the  old  unknown 
singer  to  his  God, — "  grant  that  I  enter  not  yet  into  the  house 
of  clay.  Have  pity  on  me,  O  Almighty,  have  pity  on  me. 
If  I  go  trembling  like  a  cloud  driven  before  the  wind,  have 
pity  on  me.  God  Almighty,  have  pity  on  me.  How  could  I 
come  to  Varuna  ?  Would  he  accept  my  offering  without  dis- 
pleasure ?  I  turn  to  thee,  O  Varuna,  desiring  to  know  my  sin. 
Absolve  me  from  the  sins  of  our  fathers,  and  from  those  that 
we  may  have  committed  in  our  own  bodies,  that,  purified  from 
all  sin,  I  may  give  satisfaction  to  the  living  God." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  revert  to  the  annals  of  a  distant  past 
to  verify  this  penitent  tone  of  the  religious  feeling ;  we  have 
the  living  illustration  of  it  in  our  own  heart.  Under  our 
actual  conditions  this  feeling  is  never  separable  from  the  bitter 
sense  of  wrong  done,  of  guilt,  of  the  need  of  reconciliation,  in 
a  word,  of  redemption.  The  longing  for  redemption  har- 
monises with  evolution  in  this  sense,  that  while  it  does  not 
proceed  from  it,  it  does  in  its  turn  enter  on  a  progressive 
development.  It  is  nevertheless  true  that  the  theory  of  evo- 
lution renders  no  account  of  this  sense  of  the  abnormal,  of 
wrong,  of  sin,  which  in  its  bitterness  and  sorrow  underlies  all 
the  religions  of  mankind.  We  freely  admit  with  Hartmann, 
that  nothing  is  more  opposed  to  religion,  as  a  real  human  fact, 
than  the  frivolous  and  superficial  optimism  which  sees  in  it 
only  the  worship  of  the  ideal.  He  says  :  "  Religion  every- 
where springs  from  the  amazement  which  the  human  mind 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  449 

experiences  in  view  of  sin  and  evil,  and  from  the  desire  which 
it  feels  to  explain  their  existence  and,  if  possible,  to  destroy 
them.  The  man  who  is  conscious  of  nothing  wrong,  who  is 
accused  of  no  fault,  will  not  seek  to  raise  his  thoughts  above 
the  interests  of  this  world.  But  he  who  says,  How  is  it  that 
I  have  to  bear  these  ills  ?  and  how  can  I  reconcile  my  guilty 
conscience  with  itself?  that  man  is  on  the  track  of  religion.  It 
is  only  when  the  painful  doubt,  caused  by  evil  and  the  accusa- 
tions of  conscience,  outweighs  the  joys  of  life  and  becomes 
the  habitual  disposition  of  the  soul,— that  is  to  say,  when  it 
has  reached  the  pessimist  standpoint, — it  is  only  then  that 
religion  can  lay  hold  of  the  heart.  Apart  from  the  pessimist 
attitude  of  mind,  religion  cannot  grow.1 

We  pass  over  in  silence  Hartmann's  biting  sarcasms  on  the 
shallow  optimism  which  transforms  the  religious  drama  into  a 
tame  idyll,  because  the  same  weapons  might  easily  be  used 
against  absolute  pessimism.  In  truth,  this  pessimism,  by 
making  evil  an  inevitable  necessity,  blunts  the  point  of  re- 
morse, and  practically  leads  to  the  most  unworthy  consola- 
tions as  Schopenhauer  proves.  If  religion  were  pessimist  after 
the  manner  of  the  worshippers  of  the  senseless  Unconscious, 
which  doomed  us  to  ill  by  inadvertently  calling  us  into  being, 
it  would  not  arouse  either  the  stern  reproaches  of  conscience 
or  the  strong  yearnings  of  the  soul  after  redemption.  The 
sorrowful  pessimism  of  true  religion  is  widely  different  from 
that  of  Hartmann,  because  it  begins  with  an  optimist  view  of 
the  world.  It  believes  that  the  world  was  made  for  good  and 
happiness ;  if  it  has  lost  these,  it  is  because  of  wrong,  of  an 
aberration  as  terrible  as  it  is  mysterious.  Hence  remorse,  with 
its  anguish.  Hence  the  craving  and  seeking  for  pardon.  The 
sorrow  inseparable  from  the  religious  feeling  till  it  has  found 
its  great  quietus,  attests  by  its  very  nature  the  belief  in  man's 
freedom  of  action.  Humanity  feels  truly,  however  vaguely, 
that  if  the  bond  between  it  and  God  is  broken,  it  is  by  its 
1  "  Religion  der  Zukunft.'  Hartmann. 

G  G 


450  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY 

fault,  else  it  would  know  neither  remorse  nor  longing  for 
pardon.  The  gravest  charge  we  have  to  bring  against  the 
theory  of  evolution  applied  to  religion,  is,  that  it  ignores  its 
moral  character,  and  eliminates  that  freedom  of  choice  without 
which  religion  would  be  nothing  more  than  a  highet  instinct. 
As  we  have  already  shown  in  relation  to  the  other  manifesta- 
tions of  the  psychical  life,  free-will  alone  raises  it  from  the 
instinctive  and  unconscious  state  to  reflexion  and  voluntary 
action.  The  true  religion  for  man,  corresponding  to  the  ideal 
of  his  moral  nature,  must  be  the  free  surrender  of  his  being  to 
the  God  who  offers  Himself  to  man.  This  implies  that  the 
surrender  may  be  withheld.  Now  the  sufferings  and  the 
aspirations  of  mankind  alike  prove  that  he  believes  that  in  the 
mysterious  past  he  has  gone  astray  from  God.  We  do  not  ask 
whether  this  is  or  is  not  an  illusion  of  the  mind,  whether  the 
fall  can  be  established  on  sound  evidence.  We  simply  affirm 
that  mankind  has  believed  it,  and  that  the  religions  which  he 
has  framed  out  of  his  own  consciousness  have  without  ex- 
ception conveyed  this  bitter  acknowledgment  of  the  fall,  the 
source  of  all  his  remorse  and  all  his  aspirations.  We  must 
then  either  deny  the  idea  of  sin,  which  is  at  the  root  of  all 
religions,  or  recognise  that  the  theory  of  mere  religious  de- 
velopment does  not  correspond  to  the  facts.  M.  Renouvier 
says  very  justly  :  "  Religion  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  sin  in  the  general  and  the  particular,  and  the 
redemption  of  the  sinner."  l 

If  the  religious  feeling  in  its  depth  and  breadth  includes  at 
once  the  conviction  of  sin,  that  is  of  a  violation  of  the  divine 
order,  and  the  aspiration  after  redemption,  it  follows  that  it 
implies  the  idea  of  the  supernatural.  This  has,  in  truth,  never 
been  absent  from  it.  It  is  undeniable  that  there  does  not 
exist  a  religion  which  has  not  believed  in  a  free  intervention 
of  Deity  to  help  man  to  restore  the  broken  bond.  Man  could 

1  "Critique  Philosophique,"  April,  1881.  See  M.  Astie's  article  on 
Religion  in  the  "Encyclopedic  Lichtenberger." 


RELIGION,    ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  451 

not  but  believe  in  such  an  intervention  by  a  sort  of  psycho- 
logical logic.  If  sin  and  disorder  have  come,  true  nature  no 
longer  exists ;  and  if  nature  perverted  is  left  to  work  unhin- 
dered, the  disorder  will  be  eternal  and  incurable.  Of  what 
avail  is  it  to  try  and  banish  or  minimise  the  disorder,  if  the  evil 
is  beyond  remedy?  Whenever  man  attempts  a  reparative  work, 
it  is  in  the  hope  that  this  perverted  nature  will  not  be  left  to 
itself,  that  it  can  be  restored ;  and  who  could  restore  it  but  its 
author?  The  supernatural,  then,  is  but  a  restoration  of  true 
nature,  a  reinstatement  of  the  true  relations  between  God  and 
man.  The  antinomy  is  only  between  the  supernatural  and 
nature  falsified,  which  might  be  called  the  contranaturaL  The 
imagination  of  man  grafts  a  marvellous  and  fantastic  growth 
on  this  hope  of  reparation  or  restoration  of  true  nature ;  but 
such  a  hope  is  none  the  less  inseparable  from  all  positive 
religion,  which  is  based  upon  the  hope  of  or  the  endeavour 
after  the  great  reconciliation.  Faith  in  the  supernatural,  con- 
sidered in  its  origin,  is  not  the  purely  intellectual  conception  of 
a  supernatural  revelation,  which  multiplies  prodigies  to  con- 
strain the  human  mind  into  accepting  a  doctrine  that  it  cannot 
grasp,  and  which  can  only  be  victorious  by  trampling  on  his 
reason.  No  ;  that  which  man  seeks  is  more  than  an  idea  about 
God,  it  is  God  Himself,  a  God  reconciled  and  responsive  to  all 
the  aspirations  of  his  nature.  Revelation  is  to  him  one  with 
the  effective  manifestation  of  God.  If  the  inward  revelation 
does  not  satisfy  him,  it  is  because  of  his  voluntary  separation 
from  his  source ;  but  all  the  outward  historical  manifestations 
of  the  divine  will  have  a  value  and  a  meaning  only  as  they 
correspond  to  and  quicken  into  life  the  sense  of  the  divine 
which  is  in  him.1  Revelation  and  redemption  are  one.  If  the 
former  has  been  separated  from  the  latter,  and  reduced  to 
unintelligible  oracles,  this  has  been  the  work  of  the  scribe  and 
the  rabbi ;  but  the  true  aspiration  of  mankind  has  risen  to  a  far 
grander  height  That  which  it  has  sought  is  a  pardoning  God, 
1  "Zur  Offenbarung."  Rothe. 


452  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

lifting  man  up  from  his  low  estate,  giving  Himself  to  man,  and 
making  His  free  love  victorious  over  the  principle  of  evil  and 
of  death,  which  falsifies  nature.  Under  its  highest  and  purest 
form,  in  Christianity,  religion  presents  itself  to  us  pre-eminently 
in  this  character,  by  which  it  is  broadly  distinguished  from 
a  mere  belief  based  upon  miraculous  oracles.  It  is  in  this 
higher  form  that,  after  its  previous  admixture  with  so  many 
elements  which  alloyed  and  sullied  it,  the  religious  feeling 
expands  like  the  blossom  that  has  burst  its  sheath,  or  the 
winged  insect  emerging  from  its  chrysalis.  Religion  then  is 
the  highest  and  holiest  expression  of  this  aspiration  after  the 
ideal,  which  we  have  observed  to  be  one  of  the  characteris- 
tic traits  of  humanity.  It  becomes  aspiration  not  merely  after 
the  ideal  in  a  vague  indefinite  way,  but  after  the  restoration 
of  the  true  idea  of  humanity  by  redemption.  Whether  the 
supernatural  interposition  implied  by  such  a  conception  of 
religion  has  really  taken  place,  is  not  for  the  moment  the 
question  before  us.  We  know  only  that,  natural  laws  being 
contingent  or  non-necessary,  such  an  interposition  must  be 
possible  on  every  scientific  theory  which  does  not  resolve  itself 
into  pure  mechanics,  and  which  admits,  in  addition  to  force, 
that  which  qualifies  and  modifies  force,  namely  freedom  of 
action.  The  problem  of  the  supernatural  is  a  vast  one,  and  is 
not  to  be  solved  either  by  summary  affirmation  or  negation. 
The  opposition  between  the  natural  and  the  supernatural 
cannot  be  said  to  be  absolute,  for  we  are  acquainted  with  only 
a  very  small  part  of  the  laws  and  forces  which  constitute  the 
great  whole  of  the  natural  order  as  known  and  governed  by  its 
Author.  May  we  not  say  with  St.  Augustine,  that  that  which 
is  limited  is  not  nature  but  our  knowledge?  Let  us  never 
forget  that  the  dependence  of  our  nature  on  its  Author  is  the 
first  of  natural  laws. 

If  we  sum  up  the  various  characteristics  of  religion,  we  shall 
find  that  foremost  among  them  is  the  striving  of  humanity  with 
all  its  faculties  to  reach  God.  Having  given  us  the  intuition 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  453 

of  the  infinite  Being,  who  is  also  the  absolute  good  and  perfect 
love,  religion  binds  closely  together  the  religious  and  moral 
consciousness  and  the  deep  need  of  loving  which  is  in  the 
heart  of  man.  The  belief  in  man's  future  destinies  is  one  of 
its  essential  elements,  for  if  there  is  no  life  beyond  death,  his 
highest  aspirations  are  delusive,  and  the  moral  law  has  no 
sanction.  Lastly,  religion  expresses  by  rites  and  symbols  at 
once  the  deep  sense  of  sin,  which  has  interrupted  the  normal 
relations  between  man  and  God,  and  that  aspiration  after  re- 
demption, which  is  no  less  universal.  This  is  the  conclusion 
to  which  we  are  led  by  our  inquiry  into  the  fact  of  religion  as 
it  is  presented  to  us  in  history.  Let  us  now  see  what  expla- 
nation is  given  of  it  by  the  materialism  of  the  day. 

II.  VARIOUS  EXPLANATIONS  OF  THE  ORIGIN  OF  RELIGION. 

Let  us  first  show  generally  that  religion,  reduced  to  its 
essential  and  universal  elements,  cannot  proceed  from  the 
external  world,  as  all  the  naturalistic  schools  affirm.  This  we 
have  already  proved  in  relation  to  several  of  these  elements. 
As  regards  the  moral  aspect  of  religion,  for  example,  we  need 
only  refer  to  our  discussion  of  the  origin  of  morality.  We 
have  there  shown  that  the  law  of  conscience  is  based  upon  a 
direct  intuition,  and  that  it  appeals  to  an  act  of  the  will  for 
its  acceptance  and  recognition  as  a  higher  law  than  that  of 
impulse  or  passion.  Max  Miiller,  in  his  attempt  to  find  a 
physical  basis  for  religious  metaphysics,  asserts  in  his  "  Lec- 
tures on  the  Origin  and  Growth  of  Religion,"  that  the  moral 
law  is  a  deduction  from  inflexible  natural  law,  which  makes 
the  world  move  in  the  right  paths.1  Hence  the  use  of  the 
word  rightness  in  reference  alike  to  the  natural  and  the  moral. 
We  do  not  deny  that  human  language  has  borrowed  its  symbol 
from  nature,  for  the  expression  of  this  great  idea  as  of  all 
others ;  but  it  has  put  into  it  that  which  nature  certainly  does 

1  "  Lectures  on  the  Origin  and  Growth  of  Religion,"  Max  Miiller,  p.  239. 


454  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

not  contain,  namely,  the  idea  of  responsibility  and  of  free 
action,  which  no  one  has  ever  associated  with  the  regular 
course  of  the  sun.  We  must  not  forget  that  man  not  only  has 
the  consciousness  of  freedom  and  responsibility,  but  also  that 
he  reproaches  himself  with  having  broken  the  law  of  right. 
Hence  the  painful  contrast  which  he  perceives  between  the 
reality  before  his  eyes  and  his  ideal.  Now,  this  contrast  can 
only  be  felt  by  him  if  he  has  the  consciousness  of  a  higher 
reality  than  meets  his  eye.  His  deep  regret  and  sorrowful 
yearning  suffice  to  prove  that  his  moral  sense  is  not  derived 
from  a  purely  natural  source.  That  which  he  sees  would  not 
fill  him  with  aspiration  alter  the  absolute  good  which  he 
cannot  see,  if  he  had  not  a  sort  of  inward  vision,  a  sublime 
foreshadowing  of  it 

If  from  the  moral  element  of  religion  we  turn  to  the  idea  of 
the  infinite,  which  is  its  essence,  we  shall  recognise  that  the 
grandest  scenes  of  nature  are  inadequate  to  give  it  birth. 
They  dazzle,  intoxicate,  overwhelm,  as  they  appeal  to  the 
senses  alone ;  they  produce  an  impression  either  awful  or 
delicious ;  but  they  open  before  us  no  vista  of  the  infinite. 
If  they  suggest  the  infinite,  it  is  by  an  element  derived  from 
our  own  nature.  Max  Miiller  has  indeed  asserted  in  his 
"Lectures  on  the  Origin  and  Growth  of  Religion,"  that  our 
senses  alone  lead  us  to  the  idea  of  the  infinite,  and  open  to  us 
in  some  sort  the  gates  of  the  invisible,  since  in  their  highest 
exercise  they  reach  after  things  intangible,  such  as  the  im- 
measurable vault  of  heaven  with  its  ever  receding  distances.  But 
that  which  is  perceived  by  the  senses  can  never  be  identified 
with  the  invisible.  The  vague  and  misty  distance  may  give  the 
idea  of  the  indefinite;  but  the  infinite  is  something  altogether 
different  The  indefinite  is  the  finite  prolonged  ;  the  infinite 
is  the  direct  opposite  of  the  finite.  On  this  point  we  entirely 
agree  with  the  theory  worked  out  by  Herbert  Spencer  in  his 
"  First  Principles,"  in  which  he  maintains  that  the  idea  of  the 
infinite  and  that  of  the  finite  are  correlatives,  and  that  in 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  455 

the  mind  of  man  the  finite  only  exists  because  he  believes 
in  the  infinite.1  This  great  idea  must  be  inherent  in  the 
reason,  before  reason  can  educe  it  from  the  finite,  even  from 
the  vastness  of  the  starry  firmament. 

We  can  easily  understand  how  the  son  of  the  East  pro- 
jected on  the  heavens  the  idea  of  the  divine  innate  in  his 
own  soul.  We  can  well  imagine  the  impression  produced 
upon  his  mind  by  the  brightness  of  the  dawn  purpling  the 
plains  and  waking  all  nature  to  rejoice.  We  can  understand 
how  he  came  to  conceive  a  divinity  in  the  fertilising  river, 
quickening  into  life  the  barren  soil  through  which  it  flows,  and 
to  recognise  a  tutelary  god  on  the  domestic  hearth,  the  joyous 
centre  of  patriarchal  life.  But  again  we  say,  he  would  not  so 
have  deified  nature,  if  the  idea  of  the  divine  had  not  sprung 
up  from  the  depths  of  his  own  being. 

We  cannot  admit  that  the  belief  in  a  future  life,  inseparable 
from  the  idea  of  the  infinite,  originates  simply  in  respect  for 
our  ancestors.  M.  Fustel  de  Coulanges,  in  his  book,  "  La 
Cite'  Antique/'  rightly  assigns  a  large  share  in  the  primitive 
religious  feeling  to  veneration  for  ancestors  who,  from  their 
dwelling  in  the  shades,  keep  watch  and  ward  over  their 
descendants.  The  fatherland  is  the  sacred  soil  where  the 
fathers  lie  buried.  We  recognise,  as  he  does,  that  fatherhood 
was  the  most  beautiful  symbol  of  the  Deity;  but  it  would  not 
have  been  deified  if  the  sense  of  the  divine  had  not  previously 

1  "  Though  the  Absolute  cannot  in  any  manner  or  degree  be  known,  in  the 
strict  sense  of  knowing,  yet  we  find  that  its  positive  existence  is  a  necessary 
datum  of  consciousness.  .  .  .  We  are  obliged  to  regard  every  phe- 
nomenon as  a  manifestation  of  some  power  by  which  we  are  acted  upon ; 
though  Omnipresence  is  unthinkable,  yet,  as  experience  discloses  no  bound 
to  the  diffusion  of  phenomena,  we  are  unable  to  think  of  limits  to  the  pre- 
sence of  this  power,  while  the  criticisms  of  science  tell  us  that  this  Power 
is  Incomprehensible.  And  this  consciousness  of  an  Incomprehensible 
Power  called  Omnipresent,  from  inability  to  assign  its  limits,  is  just  that 
consciousness  on  which  Religion  dwells."— "  First  Principles,"  Herbert 
Spencer,  p.  99.  We  have  already  pointed  out  how  inconsistent  this  theory 
is  with  a  system  which  allows  no  room  for  mystery. 


456  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

existed  in  man.  Apart  from  this,  he  would  only  have  seen 
his  fellow  in  the  leader  by  whose  side  he  had  fought,  and  who 
had  fallen  before  his  eyes  beneath  the  enemy's  dart.  Respect 
for  a  deceased  ancestor  could  never  of  itself  give  the  idea  of 
immortality,  for  had  not  this  beloved  and  honoured  father 
been  seen  to  die  ?  The  spectacle  of  death  is  still,  even  after 
eighteen  centuries  of  Christianity,  a  stern  test  of  faith  in  the 
future  life.  Who  has  not  shivered  with  a  chilling  doubt  in 
presence  of  the  dark  tokens  of  death — the  quenched  eye,  the 
mute  lips,  the  glazed  forehead,  the  motionless  hand  that  gives 
no  responsive  pressure  ?  To  hold  fast  our  faith  in  life,  in  face 
of  death,  we  must  have  something  more  than  a  dream,  a  shadow. 
Man  in  a  savage  state,  has  never  been  known  to  triumph  over 
this  awful  reality,  and  to  believe  that  while  the  body  dies  the 
soul  lives  on.  Reason  has  never  achieved  a  grander  victory 
over  sense.  Where  sensation  says,  Death  and  destruction,  the 
soul  says,  Resurrection  and  life.  There  is,  indeed,  a  majesty  in 
death  itself;  if  it  does  not  reveal  life,  it  does  set  a  seal. of 
grandeur  upon  the  pallid  brow.  This  idealisation,  coming 
through  death  to  a  man  beloved  and  venerated,  must  have 
made  a  deep  impression  on  the  rude  offspring  of  a  barbarous 
race,  and,  blending  with  the  tender  grace  of  memory,  led  to 
the  apotheosis  of  their  chiefs. 

The  worship  of  ancestors  was  but  one  step  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  religious  feeling,  and  was  quickly  left  behind. 
The  humanisation  of  the  divine  was  soon  applied  to  nature. 
Man  has  a  tendency  to  see  the  reflexion  of  himself  in 
nature.  He  attributes  to  it  his  own  faculties,  and  even  the 
distinction  of  sex.  Anthropomorphism,  before  it  found  its 
highest  expression  in  Greek  humanism,  was  manifested  in 
all  the  religions  of  nature.  It  did  not  originate  in  mere 
legends  without  moral  significance ;  it  did  not  make  the  sun 
king  of  heaven  simply  because  the  chief  of  the  tribe  came 
from  the  East.  It  arose  out  of  a  deep  and  true  idea,  namely 
that  the  Infinite  Absolute  Being  must  possess  life  in  its  highest 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  457 

form ;  free,  moral  life,  not  the  trammelled  life  of  matter  or  of 
mere  animalism.  Anthropomorphism  is  a  fresh  and  conclusive 
proof  that  religion  is  not  the  impress  of  man  upon  matter,  but 
rather  the  victorious  reaction  of  the  soul  upon  external  things, 
to  which  it  imparts  of  its  own  essence,  and  that,  in  a  word, 
man  is  an  essentially  religious  being.  Hence,  neither  the 
moral  basis  of  religion  nor  the  conception  of  the  infinite  and 
of  immortality  can  be  derived  from  without  and  be  simply 
natural.  It  is  not  nature  which  urges  man  on  to  the  striving 
of  his  whole  being  to  unite  itself  with  God,  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  the  essential  characteristic  of  religion.  Nature,  un- 
doubtedly, reflects  the  perfections  of  God,  and  leads  up  to  Him 
as  the  one  great  cause  adequate  to  the  grandeur  and  harmony 
of  the  vast  work  before  our  eyes ;  but  it  speaks  a  confused 
language  which  needs  to  be  interpreted  by  reason  and  con- 
science, if  man  is  to  rise  above  the  region  of  sensation  and  mere 
emotion.  It  follows  that  nature  alone  does  not  render  possi- 
ble that  great  dialogue  between  the  finite  creature  and  the 
Infinite  Being,  which  constitutes  religion.  Nature  only  sends 
back  to  man  the  echo  of  his  own  voice.  But  man  needs  One 
greater  than  himself  to  speak  to  his  heart.  The  greatness  to 
which  we  here  refer  is  not  a  matter  of  proportion  and  dimen- 
sion ;  it  is  the  greatness  of  an  order  higher  than  nature.  Every 
relation  implies  two  terms;  nature  gives  only  one.  We  know, 
indeed,  that  man  too  often  seems  to  stop  at  nature,  and  to 
worship  it  in  some  one  of  its  manifestations;  but  it  is  only 
a  seeming.  The  very  fact  that  he  worships,  reveals  that  he 
has  the  sense  of  a  Being  greater  than  himself  or  any  of  his 
fellows.  He  feels  this  through  nature.  Even  while  he  seems 
to  stop  at  nature,  he  really  goes  beyond  it ;  for  the  very  idea 
of  worship  implies  that  the  object  of  worship  is  greater  than 
the  created  world.  Let  it  be  observed,  that  whenever  man 
worships  nature,  he  transfigures  it,  and  lends  to  it  an  extra- 
ordinary faculty  of  rising  above  its  own  laws.  Hence,  even 
while  he  worships  nature,  he  rises  above  it.  Adoration  blended 
with  naturalism  is  implicitly  the  denial  of  the  latter. 


458  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

After  this  general  refutation  of  the  naturalistic  explanation 
of  religion,  let  us  pass  to  the  particular  theories  of  which  it  is 
the  animating  principle.  Some  scarcely  deserve  examination. 
The  euhemerism  which  regards  religion  as  merely  a  distortion 
of  historic  tradition,  the  apotheosis  by  enthusiasm  and  imagin- 
ation of  the  great  warriors,  heroes,  and  civilisers  of  primitive 
history,  is  so  irreconcilable  with  the  most  elementary  phase  of 
the  religious  sentiment,  that  it  only  needs  a  passing  mention. 
The  Epicurean  theory,  which  still  has  representatives  among 
us,  reduces  religion  to  terror  of  the  unknown ;  but,  as  M. 
Reville  observes,  terror  does  not  exhaust  the  idea  of  religion, 
since  man,  even  when  reassured,  continues  to  exhibit  religious 
feeling ;  nay  more,  he  finds  actual  satisfaction  in  dwelling  on 
the  tragic  situation,  and  instead  of  endeavouring  to  escape 
from  it,  expresses  it  in  appropriate  rites.  Now,  it  is  certain 
that  if  religious  terror  was  like  our  vulgar  fears,  we  should  try 
to  dispel,  not  to  foster  it.1  Darwin  has  really  only  repeated 
the  Epicurean  idea.  He  goes  so  far  as  to  trace  the  primitive 
religious  element  in  his  dog,  when  the  creature  howls  with  fear 
before  a  curtain  swayed  about  by  the  wind,  as  vaguely  sug- 
gesting to  it  the  idea  of  an  unknown  and  terrible  power.2 

The  positivist  school  sees  in  religion  only  that  infantile 
state  of  the  mind  of  man  which  leads  him  to  worship  fetishes, 
to  identify  the  supernatural  with  the  natural,  and  to  incorpo- 
rate in  his  rude  idols  the  dim  idea  of  an  extraordinary  power 
before  which  he  shrinks  in  dread.3  We  pass  by  for  the 
moment  the  historical  aspect  of  this  theory,  to  which  we  shall 
refer  when  we  come  to  speak  of  the  religious  sentiment  in 
primtval  man.  For  the  present  it  is  enough  for  us  to  advance 
one  psychological  consideration  in  opposition  to  this  theory. 
To  say  that  fetishism  is  the  origin  of  religion,  is  to  say  nothing 

!  "Prolegomenes,"  Reville,  p.  102. 
*  "Descent  of  Man."     Darwin. 

3  Girard  de  Rialhe  has  taken  up  and  worked  out  this  idea  in  his  treatise 
of  comparative  mythology. 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  459 

at  all ;  for  what  we  want  to  know  is,  what  impulse  led  man  to 
set  up  a  fetish,  that  is  to  say,  to  deify  a  block  of  wood  or  an 
animal.  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  had  anything  divine  in 
its  appearance ;  to  apply  the  adjective  divine  to  a  substantive 
so  little  accordance  with  it,  man  must  must  have  had  an 
antecedent  idea  of  the  divine  which  he  projected  on  the  ob- 
ject before  him.  The  ruder  the  object  of  his  worship,  the 
more  impossible  is  it  that  he  should  have  derived  from  it  the 
notion  of  the  divine,  and  the  more  obvious  that  this  notion 
originated  in  himself.  The  difficulty  is  only  removed  farther 
back,  for  we  have  now  to  inquire  how  this  idea  of  the  divine 
came  into  man's  mind. 

This  necessity  could  not  escape  the  logical  mind  of  Herbert 
Spencer.  He  has  endeavoured  therefore  to  explain  the  origin 
of  the  religious  feeling  without  going  beyond  the  domain  of 
sensation ;  for  every  idea,  every  feeling,  according  to  the  logic 
of  his  system,  ought  to  come  from  without,  not  from  within, 
since  he  admits  no  a  priori,  nothing  resembling  the  soul  or 
conscience.1  He  holds  that  the  savage  in  every  respect  re- 
sembles the  child;  like  the  child,  he  makes  no  distinction 
between  the  natural  and  supernatural ;  in  his  simple  astonish- 
ment at  nature,  everything  is  at  once  marvellous  and  natural. 
The  impossible  has  no  existence  for  him.  Hence  he  is  dis- 
posed to  accept  as  real  everything  that  strikes  his  imagination. 
He  dreams,  for  example,  that  he  has  really  been  at  the  chase ; 
the  companions  to  whom  he  recounts  his  dream  believe  it 
even  more  strongly,  because  of  the  imperfection  of  his  lan- 
guage, which  does  not  enable  him  to  say,  "  I  dreamt  that  I 
went/'  instead  of  "I  went."  Tfcis  hunter,  who  left  his  body  to 
follow  the  chase  through  the  forest,  was  not  the  same  man  who 
lay  on  the  earth  and  slept,  it  was  his  second  self.  He  believes 
then  in  a  sort  of  duplicate  of  himself.  When  he  walks  in  the 
sunshine  his  body  casts  a  shadow;  is  not  this  shadow  again 
his  other  self?  May  it  not  be  this  shadow  which  will  steal 
1  "  Principles  of  Sociology."  Herbert  Spencer. 


460  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

away  the  body  of  his  father  when  he  is  cold  and  motionless 
in  death  ?  The  man  has  witnessed  many  metamorphoses  in 
nature  and  in  the  animal  world.  Hence  the  idea  of  possible 
transformations  for  himself  and  for  those  he  has  loved.  Syn- 
cope and  catalepsy  strengthen  this  belief  in  the  reappearance 
of  life  after  death.  Thus  the  savage  comes  to  believe  in 
a  region  to  which  the  shades  are  transported  after  this  life, 
especially  if  the  corpse  has  been  duly  tended.  This  region  of 
the  dead  is  at  first  supposed  to  resemble  altogether  the  earthly 
fatherland  ;  hence  the  weapons  of  the  chase  and  the  fishing 
tackle  must  be  laid  ready  by  the  dead.  Presently  the  sojourn 
of  the  dead  becomes  more  distant  and  idealised  in  the  mind 
of  the  savage.  Spirits  are  constantly  coming  back  to  torment 
or  to  protect  their  descendants.  The  worship  of  ancestors 
grows  out  of  this  superstition.  The  shadows  of  the  dead  thus 
glide  into  animals  and  plants.  Fetishism  is  the  development 
of  this  primitive  belief  in  a  spirit  world.  The  worship  of  the 
stars  and  of  the  sun  has  no  other  origin.  The  savage  comes 
to  locate  in  these  heavenly  bodies  the  spirit  of  the  ancestor, 
whether  he  derived  his  surname  from  the  sun  or  came  origin- 
ally from  an  eastern  country.  The  priesthood  is  a  mere  magic 
craft,  and  is  also  associated  with  the  worship  of  departed 
spirits. 

This  is  the  explanation  given  of  the  greatest  moral  power 
to  which  history  bears  witness.  A  dream  taken  for  a  reality,  a 
ghost  story,  a  craven  fear,  this  is  all !  The  sublimity  of  devo- 
tion, the  cheerful  endurance  of  martyrdom,  the  pouring  out  of 
the  treasures  of  charity  at  the  feet  of  suffering  humanity,  the 
sacred  yearning  of  the  soul  after  the  infinite,  the  deep  thoughts 
of  such  men  as  Augustine  and  Pascal,  the  rapture  of  the  soul 
upborne  above  all  transitory  things,  aspiration  after  the  ideal, 
heart-sorrow  for  sin,  tears  that  will  not  be  dried,  the  craving 
for  pardon  and  for  righteousness — all  these,  we  are  told,  are  the 
result  of  the  wild  dream  of  a  savage  with  brain  bewildered  by 
the  hunting-feast.  Thus  all  that  is  grandest,  most  thrilling  in 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  461 

history  is  to  be  traced  back  to  the  vapours  of  a  morbid  brain. 
The  disproportion  between  the  fact  to  be  explained  and  the 
explanation  is  self-evident.  But  we  must  not  rest  satisfied 
with  this  general  refutation.  We  must  meet  our  opponent  in 
closer  conflict  on  his  own  ground. 

The  whole  of  Herbert  Spencer's  theory  rests  upon  the  iden- 
tification of  the  savage  with  primeval  man.  But  he  himself 
acknowledges  explicitly  that  the  distance  between  the  one  and 
the  other  may  be  great.  He  says  :  "  There  are  sundry  reasons 
for  suspecting  that  existing  men  of  the  lowest  types,  forming 
social  groups  of  the  simplest  kinds,  do  not  exemplify  men  as 
they  originally  were." 1  Again,  as  Max  Miiller  observes,  nothing 
is  more  difficult  than  to  verify  the  religious  creeds  of  savages. 
They  have  no  fixed  traditions  or  symbols,  and  they  often  refuse 
to  make  known  their  beliefs.  The  analogy  between  the  savage 
and  the  child  is  in  many  respects  erroneous.  The  savage,  who 
has  to  provide  the  means  of  sustenance  and  self-defence,  pos- 
sesses qualities  of  reasoning  and  forethought  which  are  wanting 
in  the  child.  He  has  a  keen  faculty  of  observation,  which  pre- 
vents his  falling  into  the  senseless  delusions  ascribed  to  him. 

That  the  effort  to  get  at  the  reason  of  things,  by  abstraction 
and  generalisation,  and  by  transforming  into  laws  the  facts  sup- 
plied by  sensation,  is  found  in  the  savage  as  described  by  Her- 
bert Spencer,  is  a  fact  abundantly  proved  by  evidence  which  we 
need  not  now  examine  in  detail.  We  will  simply  draw  atten- 
tion to  the  contradictions  in  Herbert  Spencer's  own  theory. 
According  to  him,  this  savage,  all  whose  beliefs  and  ideas  are 
derived  from  associated  sense-perceptions,  does  not  rest  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  sun,  setting  to  rise  again,  but  derives  from 
this  fact  a  law  of  metamorphosis  applicable  to  universal  life. 
He  draws  similar  conclusions  from  the  transformation  of  the 
tadpole  and  the  caterpillar,  and  of  the  grain  of  corn  into 
the  ear.  From  these  particular  transformations  he  argues  a 
general  transformation.  He  says :  "  I  too  shall  be  like  the 
1  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Herbert  Spencer,  p.  106. 


462  THE  PROBLEM   OF  DUTY. 

chrysalis,  I  shall  be  laid  in  the  grave,  as  in  a  dark  and  narrow 
shroud,  but  I  shall  come  forth  again  like  the  butterfly  which 
flits  over  the  fields."  Here  is  something  very  different  from 
mere  inference,  which  advances  step  by  step,  creeping  from  one 
particular  instance  to  another.  Here  the  mind  rises  at  a  bound, 
from  the  general  to  the  universal,  to  a  law.  The  mere  succes- 
sion of  sensations  will  never  give  such  an  idea.  We  observe 
the  same  faculty  of  generalising,  universalising,  and  reasoning 
by  connecting  cause  and  effect,  in  the  conclusion  which  Herbert 
Spencer  makes  the  savage  draw  from  his  dream  of  the  chase. 

It  is  not  so  simple  a  thing  as  Herbert  Spencer  assumes  it  to 
be,  to  arrive  at  the  notion  of  the  other  self,  and  to  build  up 
upon  this  frail  basis  the  idea  of  another  existence  indepen- 
dent of  the  material  frame.  The  dog  also  dreams  of  the  chase, 
but  he  only  barks  at  his  imaginary  prey.  To  conclude  from 
his  dream  the  independence  of  one  part  of  his  proper  being  in 
relation  to  the  body  lying  stretched  in  slumber,  to  recognise 
not  only  for  himself,  but  for  all  his  fellows,  the  possibility  of 
another  life  than  the  common  life  of  earth,  and  hence  to  argue 
a  future  life,  whatever  it  may  be,  implies  a  complicated  use  of 
the  reason,  and  great  boldness  of  thought  in  the  explanation 
of  death.  It  cannot  be  said  that  the  fact  of  having  seen  his 
shadow  projected  on  the  ground  has  sufficed  to  convey  to  the 
savage,  by  a  mere  visual  impression,  the  idea  of  the  other  self 
or  of  the  life  beyond.  Visual  sensation  shows  the  shadow  to 
be  inseparable  from  the  body.  In  order  to  separate  it,  to  make 
of  it  a  distinct  being,  something  more  than  the  sense-perception 
is  needed  ;  there  must  be  reasoning.  By  generalising  particular 
facts  so  as  to  derive  from  them  the  idea  of  an  existence  after 
death,  we  rise  from  the  particular  (to  which  sensation  is  always 
limited)  to  the  universal,  which  reason  alone  perceives.  Thus 
Herbert  Spencer's  savage  is  not  true  to  his  theory  of  him  ;  his 
ideas  are  not  derived  wholly  from  external  things,  he  has  added 
a  great  deal  of  his  own  in  forming  the  notions  ascribed  to  him, 
which  go  so  far  beyond  the  mere  tangible  facts. 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  463 

These  ideas  of  the  untutored  mind,  derived,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  from  such  insufficient  premisses,  crop  up  in  all  parts  of 
Herbert  Spencer's  system.  In  order  to  divest  religion  ot 
any  specific  character,  distinguishing  it  from  ideas  acquired  by 
sense-perceptions,  he  represents  it  as  an  error  of  the  senses. 
The  savage  believes  that  his  other  self  \i^  been  hunting  while 
he  slept;  that  his  shadow  is  identical  with  that  other  self ;  and 
lastly,  that  death  merely  benumbs  the  faculties  like  syncope 
or  catalepsy.  He  is  no  more  religious  when  be  believes  that 
spirits  continue  to  exist  after  death  in  another  region  and 
exert  an  influence  for  good  or  ill  upon  this  world,  than  he 
would  be  religious  in  admitting  the  existence  of  some  gigantic 
animal  like  the  hippopotamus  or  the  rhinoceros  on  seeing  it  for 
the  first  time.  The  distinctive,  specific  element  of  religion  is 
entirely  ignored.  But  in  order  to  justify  this  theory,  Herbert 
Spencer  is  bound  to  show  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  savage 
knows  no  distinction  between  the  natural  and  the  supernatural, 
and  that  he  puts  upon  the  same  level  all  the  phenomena  which 
astonish  him.  Now  this  is  not  the  case,  as  Herbert  Spencer 
himself  affirms.  He  says  :  "  Any  display  of  bodily  energy 
passing  that  which  was  ordinary  naturally  raised  in  the  minds 
of  observers  the  suspicion  either  that  there  was  possession  by 
a  supernatural  being  or  that  a  supernatural  being  in  disguise 
was  before  them.  Extraordinary  power  of  mind  is  of  course  to 
be  similarly  explained/'1  What  does  this  mean,  if  not  that  the 
savage  distinguishes  between  the  ordinary  natural  order  and  a 
higher  order  which  astonishes  him  and  passes  his  comprehen- 
sion ?  Hence  he  worships  that  which  belongs  to  this  higher 
order.  To  worship  is  to  make  the  broadest  possible  distinction 
between  the  ordinary  and  the  extraordinary  ;  it  is  to  constitute 
a  transcendental  order.  The  savage  does  not  deify  all  plants, 
all  animals  ;  he  chooses  out  some  which  are  often  no  more 
wonderful  than  the  rest ;  but  he  incorporates  with  them  a 
sense  of  the  transcendent,  the  supernatural,  the  divine,  derived 
1  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  p.  254. 


464  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

not  from  them  but  from  himself.  We  do  not  say  that  the 
manifestations  of  the  forces  of  nature  do  not  aid  in  awakening 
this  higher  sense  ;  but  man  would  not  deify  them  if  he  had  not 
in  himself  the  intuition  of  the  divine. 

Let  us  look  still  more  closely  into  this  assumed  origin  of  the 
other  self,  leading  to  the  apotheosis  of  shadows  and  of  all  that 
they  inform,  from  the  celestial  bodies  to  animals,  plants,  and 
stones.  The  dream  of  the  chase  would  not  have  the  import- 
ance attached  to  it,  unless  the  savage  really  confounded  his 
dream  with  actual  fact.  Now  this  has  never  been  proved  to 
be  the  case.  The  dream  may  indeed  unquestionably  sometimes 
assume  the  character  of  a  vision  in  which  reappear  the  forms 
of  the  departed ;  we  see  no  difficulty  in  supposing  that  such 
visions  exert  an  influence  on  the  belief  in  immortality;  but  they 
do  not  suggest  the  idea  of  the  other  self.  The  savage  knows 
very  well  what  it  is  to  dream.  "  I  dreamed  of  my  brother," 
says  a  Zulu,  quoted  by  Herbert  Spencer.  He  was  conscious, 
then,  that  the  dreaming  was  different  from  the  waking  state. 
Obviously  he  did  not  identify  things  done  by  him  in  the  day 
with  those  which  passed  before  him  in  his  sleep,  else  he  would 
not  have  said  :  "  I  dreamed." 

Further  :  for  the  dream  really  to  give  the  idea  of  the  other 
self  and  to  be  the  sole  cause  of  a  belief  in  the  future  life,  it 
must  be  possible  to  prove  the  reality  of  this  notion  of  man's 
double.  But  the  belief  in  immortality  is  always  accompanied 
by  a  deep  sense  of  the  identity  of  the  living  with  the  dead.  All 
funereal  rites  among  savages  imply  this,  since  they  consist 
largely  in  surrounding  the  dead  with  all  that  he  loved  and  pre- 
ferred in  the  earthly  life,  so  that  he  may  be  able  to  carry  it  on. 
The  respect  for  the  corpse  which  expresses  the  long-cherished 
thought  of  immortality  connected  with  the  mortal  remains,  is 
irreconcilable  with  the  theory  of  the  other  self.  Herbert  Spencer 
tries  to  bring  out  the  fact  that  the  savage  regards  the  future  life 
as  one  with  the  present.  The  more  evidence  he  brings  of  this 
consciousness  of  personal  identity  after  death,  the  more  does 


RELIGION,   ITS  NATURE  AND   ORIGIN.  465 

he  lessen  the  importance  of  his  own  hypothesis  of  the  other 
self,  on  which  however  he  bases  his  whole  explanation  of 
religion  as  growing  out  of  a  dream. 

We  are  led  still  more  certainly  to  the  same  conclusion  if  we 
probe  to  the  bottom  this  idea  of  the  other  life,  the  life  beyond, 
even  in  the  crude  form  in  which  Herbert  Spencer  presents  it. 
It  is  illuminated,  even  in  the  breast  of  the  rudest  savage,  by  a 
faint  glimmering  of  the  moral  idea.  We  are  told  that  he  com- 
monly believes  the  resurrection  to  depend  on  his  conduct  in 
this  life.1  The  after-life  is  considered  by  some  savage  races  to 
be  the  reward  of  bravery.  Would  it  be  possible  to  show  more 
clearly  that  in  both  lives  the  ego  is  one  and  the  same,  since 
our  merits  or  demerits  in  this  life  determine  bur  state  in  the 
other?  We  have  here  more  than  the  proof  of  the  persistent 
identity  of  the  human  person  ;  we  get  a  new  and  deep  insight 
into  the  very  essence  of  religion.  We  observe  the  close  bond 
which  unites  the  moral  and  the  religious  ideas,  as  soon  as  the 
conception  of  the  divine  manifests  itself. 

It  appears  to  us  that  after  this  discussion  we  are  justified  in 
concluding  that  it  is  from  the  depths  of  his  own  nature,  and  not 
from  the  outer  world,  that  man  has  derived  the  idea  and  the 
sense  of  the  divine,  and  that  it  is  only  after  thus  apprehending 
it  in  himself  that  he  is  capable  of  recognising  it  in  nature.  If 
he  had  not  found  it  in  himself,  he  would  have  found  it  no- 
where else.  No  external  revelation  could  give  him  the  idea, 
for  he  would  be  incapable  of  comprehending  it ;  the  very  voice 
of  God  would  be  to  him  only  as  a  tinkling  cymbal,  without 
that  inner  Word  which  is,  so  to  speak,  the  utterance  of  the 
ineffable  Name  in  unison  by  all  his  highest  faculties,  moral  and 
speculative. 

This  inward  revelation,  which  results  from  the  very  constitu- 
tion of  man's  nature,  in  no  way  excludes  the  historical  revela- 
tion ;  on  the  contrary,  it  alone  renders  it  possible,   with  the 
understanding  that  this   historical  revelation   is  never  to  be 
1  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  p.  198. 

H    K 


466  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

regarded  as  a  purely  external  authority,  having  no  correspond- 
ence with  our  intellectual  and  moral  nature,  for  then  it  would 
only  be  another  phase  of  transform! sm,  deriving  our  higher  life 
from  external  sources.  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  erring 
humanity  from  receiving  new  light ;  or  rather,  man,  separated 
from  God,  may  be  brought  back  to  Him  by  the  living  communi- 
cations of  His  love.  Only,  in  order  to  receive  the  light,  the 
adaptation  of  the  eye  is  needed,  and  this  adaptation  is  that 
very  intuition  of  the  divine,  which  comes  from  within,  not  from 
without,  and  which  we  are  fain  to  discern  even  in  the  most 
degraded  specimens  of  humanity.  Into  these  depths  of  de- 
gradation we  must  now  look,  in  order  to  see  what  the  primeval 
man  really  was  in  whom  we  are  supposed  to  find  irrefragable 
proof  of  the  primitive  animalism  out  of  which  we  have  arisen. 
We  shall  no  longer  content  ourselves  with  the  abstract  type  of 
the  savage  held  up  to  our  gaze  by  the  leader  of  the  English 
transformist  school.  We  shall  interrogate  travellers  and  mis- 
sionaries, whose  records  represent  the  real  state  of  nations  not 
yet  civilised 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAM 

THE  splendid  development  of  human  culture  is  universally 
recognised.  That  which  is  called  in  question  is,  that  this 
development  is  anything  more  than  the  perfecting  of  our 
physical  organism.  "  Scratch  the  savage,"  it  is  said,  changing 
slightly  an  impertinent  ban  mot  about  a  great  European  nation, 
"and  you  will  find  the  monkey."  Materialism  starts  by  assert- 
ing that  man  is  merely  an  animal.  These  assertions  are  based 
upon  two  arguments  from  fact,  supposed  to  be  irresistible. 

The  first  is  drawn  from  the  life  of  uncivilised  nations,  which 
are  identified  with  primitive  humanity  by  the  animal  nature 
attributed  to  them.  The  second  is  based  upon  the  marvellous 
discoveries  made  of  late  years,  of  the  men  who  dwelt  in  caves 
long  before  the  historic  age  began.  We  have  therefore  to  con- 
sider successively  the  savage  and  the  troglodyte,  and  to  see 
what  evidence  relating  to  primeval  man  we  gather  from  an 
impartial  investigation  of  the  facts.  We  have  to  ascertain 
whether  our  civilisation,  with  all  its  intellectual  and  artistic 
development,  moral  and  religious,  is  really  only  a  brilliant  dis- 
guise, beneath  which  it  would  be  easy  to  discover  the  anthro- 
poid, but  little  removed  from  his  rude  primeval  state. 

We  shall  turn  our  attention,  first,  to  savage  nations,  stating 
the  case  and  the  arguments  as  briefly  as  possible. 

I.     SAVAGE  NATIONS. 

We  must  at  the  outset  explain  the  fundamental  thesis  of 
the  transformist  or  merely  materialistic  school,  in  reference  to 

467 


468  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

savage  nations.  This  has  been  fully  set  forth  in  the  writings  of 
Mr.  Tylor  and  Sir  John  Lubbock,  which  contain  on  every  page 
applications  of  Herbert  Spencer's  theories  on  the  origin  of 
religion.1  The  same  school  is  represented  in  France  by  M. 
Letourneau  and  MM.  Hovelacque  and  Girard  de  Rialhe,  as 
also  by  the  numerous  publications  of  the  Anthropological 
Society  of  Paris,  in  all  of  which  we  trace  very  distinctly  the 
influence  of  M.  Broca.2 

The  solutions  of  the  materialistic  school  have  been  gravely 
called  in  question  by  M.  Quatrefages,3  with  his  usual  scientific 
accuracy  and  impartiality.  The  principles  of  Waitz'  great  work 
on  anthropology  4  still  hold  good,  though  more  modern  works 
may  contain  fuller  expositions  of  facts.  Supplemented  by  the 
reports  of  missionaries  of  all  communions,  these  principles  will 
supply  us  with  a  solid  basis  for  argument. 

The  naturalistic  school  in  all  its  branches  is  agreed  in  re- 
ferring the  development  of  humanity  to  the  influences  of  the 
outer  world,  and  in  rejecting  altogether  intellectual  and  moral 
intuition.  It  begins  by  establishing  that  savage  life,  which  it 
assimilates  on  all  points  to  that  of  the  beast,  is  in  no  degree  a 
degeneration ;  on  the  contrary,  that  it  really  represents  to  us 
the  primeval  state  of  our  race.  We  shall  show  presently  that, 
even  reduced  to  its  incontestable  elements,  savage  life  is  still 
human,  and  contains  in  germ  the  highest  future  developments. 
For  the  present  we  have  to  ask  whether  it  is  true  that  in  that 
life  we  discover  no  signs  of  degeneracy.  Mr.  Tylor,  in  order 
to  establish  his  thesis,  lays  stress  on  the  fact  that  civilised  life 
has  never  been  known  to  relapse  into  barbarism.  This  asser- 
tion is  much  too  sweeping.  Mr.  Tylor  himself  recognises  the 

1  "Primitive   Culture,"    Edward  B.   Tylor.      "Origin  of  Civilisation: 
Mental  and  Social  Condition  of  Savages,"  Sir  John  Lubbock. 

2  "  La  Sociologie  d'apres  1' Ethnographic,"  Charles  Letourneau.     "La 
Mythologie  Comparee,"  Girard  de  Rialhe.     See  also    "  Der  Fetichismus," 
Schulze. 

3  "  L'Espece  Humaine."     Quatrefages. 

4  "  Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker."     Theodor  Waitz. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL   MAN.  469 

possibility  of  such  partial  lapses  in  the  case  of  particular  tribes.1 
He  is  far  from  having  proved  that  the  traces  of  civilisation 
which  we  find,  whether  in  the  great  hunting  groands  of  the 
savages  of  South  America,  or  in  the  Indies,  are  due  to  the 
intervention  of  a  superior  race,  as  is  the  case,  for  example,  with 
the  Baptisters  among  the  Esquimaux,  who  are  evidently  of 
Christian  origin.  Many  facts  go  to  establish  the  possibility  of 
a  social  decadence  in  a  race  once  civilised ;  and  this  decadence 
is  observable  not  only  in  individual  cases  but  among  whole 
groups,  under  the  influence  of  a  change  of  environment  Thus" 
the  Basutos  of  South  Africa  became,  in  1832,  cannibals  for  the 
time,  so  deeply  had  they  sunk  back  into  barbarism  as  the 
result  of  terrible  wars,  previous  to  which  they  had  reached  a 
much  higher  level.2  The  numerous  examples  quoted  by  Waitz 
leave  no  doubt  as  to  the  possibility  of  this  degeneration.  He 
holds  that  the  sudden  isolation  of  societies,  great  or  small,  the 
interruption  of  all  commercial  relations  with  the  mother-country, 
and  the  influence  of  a  barbarous  environment,  are  enough  to 
produce  radical  changes  in  the  immediate  descendants  of  a 
nation  far  advanced  in  civilisation.3  A  Spanish  colony  on  the 
plains  of  Cordova,  upon  the  confines  of  the  Argentine  Republic, 
has  been  known  to  become  in  all  points  like  the  Indian  tribes 
around  it.  The  same  remark  applies  to  the  numerous  colonies 
of  Creoles  in  the  adjoining  districts,  and  to  the  Brazilians  living 
upon  the  frontiers.  The  descendants  of  the  Portuguese  settled 
at  Sertajo  and  at  Goyaz  have  fallen  as  low  as  the  worst  tribes 
of  savages.4  If  it  is  said  that  this  degeneration  is  owing  to  the 
mingling  of  blood,  we  simply  refer  to  the  traces  of  superstition 
and  barbarism  which  Tylor  enumerates  so  complacently  as 
existing  among  civilised  nations,  even  where  there  has  been  no 
commingling  with  other  races.5 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  i.,  chap.  ii. 

J  "Les  Bassoutos.     Vingt-trois  Annees  au  Sud  de  1'Afrique."     Casalis. 

3  "  Ethnologic  der  Naturvolker,"  Waitz,  vol.  i.,  pp.  368-370. 

4  Ibid.,  p.  370.  *  "  Primitive  Culture,"  Tylor,  vol.  i.,  chap.  iii. 


470  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

It  is  certain  that  the  development  of  a  nation,  a  race,  or  a 
tribe,  depends  on  many  and  various  conditions,  which  amply 
explain  either  its  progress,  its  stationary  condition,  or  its  de- 
terioration. These  conditions  have  been  summed  up  by  Waitz 
under  four  heads  :  First,  climate  ;  second,  food  and  manner 
of  life;  third,  greater  or  less  intellectual  culture;  fourth,  the 
spontaneous  production  and  transmission  by  inheritance  of  new 
physical  and  intellectual  predispositions,  due  in  great  part  to 
individual  influences.1  These  conditions  are  not  independent 
of  one  another;  they  become  more  operative  in  proportion  to 
the  intellectual  culture  attained.  It  follows  that  the  moral  and 
social  development  of  a  nation  is  due  to  its  history.  It  depends 
on  the  environment  it  has  chosen,  and  also  on  the  aptitudes 
manifested  and  exercised,  and  lastly  on  the  individualities 
produced.  A  new  migration,  by  whatever  circumstances  it  is 
brought  about,  must  inevitably  modify  it  profoundly  at  the 
time,  whether  for  better  or  for  worse.  We  are  not  justified 
then  in  positively  inferring,  as  M.  Hovelacque  does,  the  original 
state  of  savage  races  from  their  present  degradation.  Notable 
changes  may  have  taken  place  since  the  commencement  of 
their  history,  as  we  are  bound  to  admit  if  we  hold  the  unity 
of  the  race.  We  recognise,  indeed,  a  period  of  rude  infancy 
for  humanity  ;  but  there  is  no  evidence  that  this  rude  infancy 
resembled  the  degrading  barbarism  of  the  inhabitants  of  Terra 
del  Fuego,  which  we  are  told  represents  the  state  of  primeval 
man.  Such  barbarism  may  assuredly  be  an  instance  of  de- 
graded humanity.  We  shall  see  presently  how  far  the  cave- 
man was  superior  to  the  Melanesian  or  the  Papuan.  If  we 
can  prove  this,  we  shall  have  shaken  one  of  Mr.  Tylor's  great 
arguments  against  the  idea  of  degeneration. 

Experimental  psychology  alone  shows  that  this  is  possible. 

Every  man  knows  that  he  can  degenerate  and  go  back  morally  ; 

and  every  historian  admits  that  in  fully  civilised  society  we 

find   races  and   generations  lapsing  into    irremediable  decay. 

1  "  Ethnologic  der  Naturvolker."    Waitz. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL   MAN.  471 

History  is  strewn  with  ruins.  Progress  is  not  arrested  for  any 
length  of  time,  if  we  take  the  race  as  a  whole  ;  but  on  its  march 
it  leaves  fallen  by  the  way,  not  only  refractory  individuals,  but 
whole  nations.  We  must  not  make  these  laggards  the  hands 
on  the  dial-plate  of  humanity,  nor  can  they  be  taken  as  fairly 
representing  the  characteristics  of  any  age.1 

The  supposed  evolution  of  savage  life,  as  described  by  the 
naturalistic  school,  who  assume  it  to  represent  the  first  stage  in 
the  development  of  humanity,  has  two  great  faults;  it  begins 
too  low,  and  it  rises  too  high ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  explain 
the  progress  which  it  asserts  that  humanity  has  made,  if  it 
began  in  a  merely  brutal  life.  What,  in  fact,  is  the  origin  of 
this  evolution  which  has  produced  the  civilisation  of  to-day  ? 
According  to  M.  Letourneau,  it  is  nothing  else  than  the  pro- 
gressive development,  under  various  stimuli,  of  the  mere  life 
of  the  senses,  which  begins  with  the  necessities  of  nutrition 
and  reproduction.  He  says  :  "  In  the  mental  life  of  man  of  the 
lower  grade,  we  have  seen  the  nutritive  appetites  dominating, 
drowning,  and  stifling  all  others.  In  all  races  primeval  man 
is  a  sort  of  wild  beast,  whose  absorbing  idea  is  to  appease  his 
hunger,  to  capture  and  devour  his  prey."2  M.  Letourneau 
endeavours  in  his  book  on  Sociology  to  show  how  this  wild 
beast  invents  art  and  industry,  founds  families  by  learning 
to  control  the  sexual  passion,  and  finally  organises  the  State. 
"  The  ethnic  group  goes  on  increasing  till  the  government  of 
human  societies  becomes  a  science,  with  its  special  processes 
and  its  purposed  object,  which  is  the  amelioration  of  the 
species  in  a  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual  point  of  view."3 

We  see  how  wide  an  interval  there  is  between  the  starting- 
point  and  the  term  of  this  evolution,  and  how  impossible  it  is 
to  explain  how  so  magnificent  a  growth  should  spring  from  so 
poor  a  germ.  The  truth  is,  that  the  germ  is  purposely  de- 

1  "Primeval  Man."     Duke  of  Argyll. 
8  "Sociologie,"  Letourneau,  p.  563. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  566. 


472  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

predated  by  the  naturalistic  school,  in  opposition  to  the  most 
patent  facts,  which  M.  Letourneau  himself  cannot  wholly  ignore. 
It  is  true  that  he  regards  the  religious  element  (which  he 
admits  is  traceable  in  the  most  remote  past  of  history)  as  a 
radical  imperfection,  from  which  progress  is  to  free  us.1  Mr. 
Tylor  is  less  positive  on  this  point,  for  he  makes  religion  an 
element  in  the  normal  evolution  of  humanity.  Primeval  man, 
or  the  savage,  he  nevertheless  holds  to  be  entirely  assimilated 
to  the  brute.  His  elementary  industry  is  all  borrowed  from 
nature,  which  puts  in  his  way  flints  more  or  less  shaped  by 
accident,  which  may  serve  him  for  knives  or  arrows.  Being 
altogether  a  creature  of  the  senses,  incapable  of  distinguishing 
between  the  subject  and  the  object,  he  projects  in  some  way 
his  own  life  upon  nature.  He  believes  that  nature  is  animated 
as  he  is  by  that  breath  of  life  or  spirit  which  he  has  learnt 
to  distinguish  from  his  body,  whether  by  watching  his  own 
shadow  stretched  before  him,  or  by  feeling  himself  released 
for  a  moment  from  his  physical  life  in  the  illusions  of  a  dream. 
This  first  manifestation  of  the  religious  sentiment  in  the  savage 
Mr.  Tylor  calls  animism?  Perpetually  confounding,  as  the 
savage  does,  the  natural  and  the  supernatural,  he  recognises 
this  vital  breath,  this  universal  spirit,  in  all  the  phenomena  of 
nature,  whose  action  is  sometimes  beneficent,  sometimes  harm- 
ful, first  in  animals  and  plants,  and  afterwards  in  the  stars.  He 
sees  it  concentrated  in  his  fetish ;  hence  he  worships  even 
while  he  fears  it,  and  tries  to  appease  it  by  offerings.  The 
sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  become  for  him  the  greatest  ot 
fetishes.  Disposed  to  fashion  things  and  beings  upon  his  own 
model,  he  creates  to  himself  male  and  female  deities.  Thus 
out  of  animism  he  rises,  first  to  fetishism  and  then  to  an- 
thropomorphism, which  opens  before  him  an  indefinite  sphere 
for  the  production  of  myths. 

Mythology  is  only  a  magnified  repetition  of  human  history. 

1  "  Sociologie,"  Letourneau,  p.  301. 

8  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  i.,  chap.  xi. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL   MAN.  473 

Imagination  labours  unceasingly  over  this  theme.  A  metaphor 
is  enough  to  give  birth  to  a  new  myth.  The  great  planetary 
gods  do  not  prevent  the  thick  peopling  of  air,  earth,  and  \vater 
with  inferior  deities,  which  have  become  gradually  disengaged 
from  the  material  object  or  fetish.  Fetishism  leads  to  a  sort 
of  spiritualism,  which  is  developed  concurrently  with  the 
adoration  of  the  great  planetary  gods,  and  personifies  the 
forces  of  nature  alternately  under  their  beneficent  and  ma- 
leficent aspect.  Hence  the  polytheistic  dualism  which  has 
almost  universally  led  man  to  entertain  the  notion  of  one 
supreme  God  controlling  the  multitude  of  deities  of  every  sort, 
but  yet  never  soaring  above  the  circle  of  nature.  Thought, 
in  rising  to  monotheism,  is  content  to  follow  this  method 
of  simplification  and  unification,  which  is  the  law  of  its  evo- 
lution.1 Animism  has  not  only  produced  the  gods ;  it  has 
also  developed  the  idea  of  a  future  life,  which  presents  itself 
sometimes  under  the  form  of  metempsychosis,  sometimes 
under  that  of  an  existence  beyond  the  grave  in  the  dim 
phantom  state.2  Hence  arose  the  worship  of  ancestors;  some- 
times their  spirit  is  transfused  by  mythology  into  the  greatest 
of  the  planetary  gods.  We  may  add,  that  Mr.  Tylor  completely 
ignores  the  moral  sentiment  in  his  elaborate  account  of  the 
development  of  religion  among  savage  peoples. 

We  see  how  closely  these  explanations  of  Mr.  Tylor's  ap- 
proach those  of  Herbert  Spencer.  The  refutation  which  we 
have  attempted  of  the  system  of  the  leader  of  the  English 
transformist  school  will  greatly  simplify  our  present  task,  with- 
out, however,  rendering  it  unnecessary ;  for,  on  the  one  hand, 
Mr.  Tylor  has  on  more  than  one  point  supplemented  Herbert 
Spencer,  and  on  the  other  he  takes  his  stand  on  much  fuller 
documentary  evidence  drawn  from  the  narratives  of  modern 
travellers. 

Without    insisting   again    on    the   impossibility   of  deriving 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  ii.,  chap.  xvii. 
*  Ibid.,  chaps,  xii.,  xiii. 


474  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

from  a  mere  illusion  so  large  a  development  as  religion  in 
the  monotheistic  form  presents,  and  of  connecting  all  this  with 
a  simple  phenomenon  of  sensation,  such  as  a  man's  seeing  his 
double  in  a  dream,  we  shall  attempt  to  show  that  the  savage 
is,  from  an  intellectual,  social,  and  religious  point  of  view,  in- 
finitely superior  to  the  description  given  of  him  by  Mr.  Tylor. 
We  shall  derive  our  leading  proofs  from  his  own  book.  We 
accept,  in  great  part,  the  facts  he  has  so  ably  grouped,  only  we 
think  they  ought  to  be  differently  interpreted. 

First  of  all,  we  note  one  great  result  obtained,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  from  Mr.  Tylor's  investigation,  namely,  that  religion  is  a 
universal  fact  recognisable  among  the  lowest  savages.  His 
assertions  leave  no  doubt  at  all  on  this  point.  He  says  :  "  So 
far  as  I  can  judge  from  the  immense  mass  of  accessible 
evidence,  we  have  to  admit  that  the  belief  in  spiritual  beings 
appears  among  all  low  races  with  whom  we  have  attained  to 
thoroughly  intimate  acquaintance."  l 

This  is  directly  antagonistic  to  the  assertion  of  our  French 
materialists,  "that  the  religious  idea  is  entirely  absent  in  the 
lowest  grade  of  savagedom."  2  Let  us  make  our  meaning  quite 
clear.  If,  as  Waitz  observes,  we  mean  by  religion  faith  more 
or  less  logical  in  a  deity,  it  would  be  easy  to  show  that  no 
such  faith  is  to  be  found  among  the  Australians  or  the  in- 
habitants of  Terra  del  Fuego.  But  if  religion  is  recognisable 
wherever  there  is  a  vague  intuition  of  a  mysterious  power  upon 
whom  man  depends,  and  who  manifests  himself  in  nature  or 
by  nature,  there  is  no  place  in  the  world  where  the  influence 
of  this  intuition  is  not  felt.3 

It  is  idle  to  .assert,  as  Mr.  Tylor  does,  that  this  sense  of  the 
divine  is  one  with  universal  animism,  and  that,  by  the  fact 

1  'Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  i.,  p.  384. 

2  "Debuts  de  THumanite,"  p.  81.      The  author  contradicts  himself  in 
the  same  chapter ;  for  he  speaks  of  men  looked  upon  as  divine  by  the 
lowest  savages,  and  describes  their  funeral  rites. 

3  "  Anthropologie,"  Waitz,  vol.  i.,  p.  322. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL   MAN.  475 

that  it  ignores  all  distinction  between  the  natural  and  the 
supernatural,  it  becomes  simply  a  certain  mode  of  conceiving 
of  things  in  general.1  It  is  enough  that  we  find  in  the  lowest 
savages. the  tendency  to  adore  an  invisible  power  in  special 
manifestations,  in  order  to  establish  that  here  is  something 
more  than  the  mere  operation  of  the  ordinary  forces  of  nature. 
The  mere  fact  of  adoring,  as  we  have  already  observed,  implies 
faith  in  the  supernatural,  in  the  extraordinary;  for  the  savage 
does  not  worship  every  being,  he  does  not  always  worship. 
He  feels  then  that  there  is  something  which  is  above  and 
beyond  his  mere  physical  life,  something  which  controls  him 
and  can  influence  him  for  good  or  evil. 

Undoubtedly  he  finds  this  higher,  transcendent  something 
first  in  himself,  in  that  spirit  of  life  which  animates  him,  and 
which  is  distinct  from  his  body,  since  under  certain  circum- 
stances it  quits  his  body  as  in  dreams,  and  reappears  after  his 
death.  This  distinction,  which  is  the  basis  of  animism,  rests 
upon  a  sublime  intuition;  however  strange  may  be  its  legendary 
form,  far  from  being  a  mere  vulgar  belief  in  spirits,  it  carries 
within  it  the  foreshadowing  of  true  spiritualism.  We  are  con- 
strained to  admire  the  intellectual  instinct  which  makes  the 
savage  believe  that  the  outer  world  has  its  double  in  a  wholly 
spiritual  world,  sustaining  and  permeating  it,  and  that  every 
being  has  his  spirit,  that  is  to  say  his  ideal,  invisible  side.  This 
elementary  Platonism  can  only  proceed  from  a  being  essentially 
endowed  with  reason,  capable  of  rising  to  the  general,  the 
universal.  Besides,  it  does  not  stop  at  this  first  intuition  of  the 
invisible  force,  the  universal  spirit.  Anthropomorphism,  which 
is  also  at  the  root  of  all  the  myths  of  savage  nations,  reveals  to 
us  another  intuition  not  less  profound,  which  we  have  already 
indicated,  namely  that  the  spirit  of  life  in  its  higher  form  is 
a  willing  and  acting  personality.  Doubtless,  this  personal  life 
is  not,  in  the  mind  of  the  savage,  distinct  from  the  natural 
life;  he  so  far  confounds  them,  that  to  him  the  stars  are 
1  See  "  Mythologie  Comparce."  Girard  de  Rialhe. 


476  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

veritable  gods,  and  the  sun  and  moon  are  worshipped  by  him 
as  soon  as  he  has  reached  that  second  stage  of  evolution  which 
Tylor  calls  polytheistic  anthropomorphism,  to  which  every 
nation  rises  of  necessity,  if  its  development  is  not  hindered  or 
arrested.  But  the  savage  does  not  stop  here ;  wherever  we 
find  him  in  course  of  development — in  Asia,  in  the  depths  of 
African  deserts,  or  in  South  America — we  find  that  he  has 
glimpses  of  monotheism,  that  he  admits  the  existence  of  one 
supreme  God  to  whom  all  other  deities  are  subordinate.  This 
supreme  God  may  be  conceived  by  the  savage  mind  under  the 
form  of  a  sun-god ;  this  is  the  mistake  due  to  the  persistence 
of  the  naturalistic  element.  The  dualism  which  opposed  bad 
to  good  divinities,  and  which  was  a  limitation  of  the  idea  ot 
deity,  is  here  distinctly  left  behind.  It  is  enough  to  believe 
in  one  supreme  Deity  above  all  other  gods,  to  give  the  idea  of 
the  absolute,  the  infinite,  at  least  so  far  as  power  is  concerned. 
We  must  not  attach  too  much  importance  to  the  fact  that  this 
supreme  God  is  a  planetary  deity,  identified  with  the  broad 
heavens,  since  it  is  of  the  essence  of  animism  to  admit  that 
beneath  the  material,  finite,  tangible  existence,  there  is  a  life 
of  the  spirit  which  is  invisible. 

It  follows  that  the  evolution  of  the  religious  idea  of  the 
savage,  as  Mr.  Tylor  describes  it,  suffices  to  prove  that  it 
contains  implicitly  the  constituent  element^  of  religion  in  the 
highest  sense,  although  they  are  too  often  represented  under  the 
form  of  absurd  myths.  Monotheism  may  even  be  associated 
with  fetishism,  as  among  the  African  tribes  of  the  north 
coast ;  for  we  have  already  shown  that  the  savage  does  not 
really  deify  the  piece  of  wood  or  the  animal  which  appears 
to  be  his  god.  He  believes  that  a  spirit  is  enshrined  in  it, 
and  this  spirit  is  a  partial  manifestation  of  the  supreme  Deity. 
He  never  imagines  that  the  fetish  is  the  receptacle  of  the 
entire  divinity ;  on  the  contrary,  he  regards  it  as  only  a  partial 
manifestation  of  it ;  hence  his  multiplication  of  fetishes. 

The  evolution  of  the  religious  idea,  as  described  by  Tylor, 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  477 

is  only  possible  in  fact,  if  from  the  first  it  contains  in  germ 
the  monotheistic  idea  at  which  it  finally  ai rives.  We  firmly 
believe  that  monotheism  is  really  the  primitive  faith  of  man- 
kind. In  its  essence  the  sense  of  the  divine  implies  mono- 
theism, for  it  is  nothing  unless  it  is  the  sense  of  the  infinite, 
the  absolute.  Man  must  have  possessed  it  by  nature,  or  he 
would  never  have  sought  it  in  outward  things,  after  having 
once  fallen  under  the  dominion  of  nature  and  darkened  his 
inward  eye  by  placing  over  it  the  thick  veil  of  unbridled 
sensualism.  If  in  the  lowest  degradation  of  savage  life  we 
find  him  still  seeking  the  divine  idea,  and  clinging  to  it  even 
in  a  mutilated  and  materialised  form,  it  is  certain  that  he 
must  have  originally  possessed  it  in  its  grandeur.  The  de- 
cisive proof  that  it  was  virtually  present  in  him  under  all  its 
naturalistic  disguises,  is,  that  it  never  fails  to  free  itself  and  to 
reappear  spontaneously  in  that  monotheistic  faith  which,  as 
Mr.  Tylor  admits,  is  the  universal  conclusion  of  the  religious 
evolution.  It  is  true  in  this  sphere,  as  in  every  other,  that 
the  greater  cannot  come  from  the  less,  the  perfect  from  the 
imperfect.  We  are  justified  therefore  in  affirming  that  mono- 
theism is  the  terminus  of  the  mythological  evolution  only 
because  it  was  also  its  starting-point.  Consequently  the 
religion  of  the  savage  is  not  that  hideous  naturalism  which  it 
is  represented  to  be.  It  is  not  the  hallucination  of  a  purely 
sensuous  being;  it  contains,  often  in  rude  forms  and  incoherent 
myths,  the  essence  of  the  noblest  faiths  of  the  great  religions 
of  civilised  humanity.  Civilisation  is  not  an  alchemy  which 
transmutes  pebbles  into  gold  ;  it  brings  out  the  precious  metal 
from  its  stony  matrix;  but  if  it  were  not  already  there,  the 
stones  would  be  but  stones  still. 

The  existence  of  a  primitive  monotheism  is  a  fact  receiving 
ever  fuller  demonstration.  It  is  certain  that  the  sun  and  the 
heavens  have  been  most  frequently  identified  with  the  supreme 
God,  but  not  without  having  been  raised  above  their  natural 
sphere,  spiritualised  and  glorified,  as  well  as  humanised,  for 


478  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

they  have  always  had  a  personality  attributed  to  them.  Among 
the  Khonds,  there  is  a  real  hierarchy  of  gods  : — first,  the 
multitude  of  local  gods;  then  the  tutelary  gods  of  the  tribes; 
higher  still,  six  great  deities  of  the  rain,  the  chase,  etc.  ;  lastly, 
at  the  head  of  all,  the  god  of  the  sun,  Bura-Pcnnu,  the  Creator 
of  all  things.  This  creator-god  is  found  among  the  Mexicans, 
the  Tahitians,  the  Australian  aborigines,  the  Dyaks  of  Borneo.1 
Many  savage  nations  distinguish  their  supreme  God  from  the 
sun.  The  Red  Indians  say  that  the  Great  Spirit  is  greater  than 
the  heavens  and  the  stars,  and  that  he  dwells  in  the  heavens.2 
The  Zulus  worship  the  Lord  of  all.  The  same  distinction  is 
found  among  the  Samoyedes  and  the  Incas.  Uiracocha  was 
invoked  as  the  one  who,  after  having  given  life  to  the  sun, 
commands  it  to  shine,  and  even  protects  it.  Taaora  is  the 
supreme  God  of  the  islanders  of  the  Pacific.  He  was  before 
the  heaven,  the  earth,  and  man.  He  has  created  the  world 
and  the  inferior  deities.3 

This  idea  of  the  supreme  God  is  the  essence  of  the  religion 
of  the  negroes  of  the  Gold  Coast,  according  to  the  testimony 
of  numerous  missionaries  who  have  very  carefully  ascertained 
the  true  character  of  their  fetish  worship.4  The  negro  considers 
the  material  world  to  be  animated,  in  its  whole  extent,  by  one 
spirit  under  various  manifestations,  who  watches  over  the  world 
as  with  innumerable  eyes  and  surrounds  it  with  protection  from 
its  very  cradle.  This  spirit  enters  into  his  fetish,  though  it  is 
never  wholly  confined  to  or  identified  with  it.  The  supreme 
God  of  the  Gold  Coast  negroes  is  called  Njougmo.  Though 
he  is  often  identified  with  the  heavens  in  current  speech,  he  is 
looked  upon  as  entirely  distinct  from  them  ;  for  on  the  one 
hand  he  is  regarded  as  a  personal  being,  and  on  the  other,  he 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  ii.,  p.  317. 

2  Ibid. ,  p.  309. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  312. 

4  "Magazin  flir  die  Geschichte  der  Evangelischen  Mission  der  Basel 
Gesellschaft,"  die  Religion  des  Negers  von  Missionar  Steinhaussr. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND   PRIMEVAL   MAN.  479 

is  in  some  sort  the  soul  of  those  celestial  regions  whence  come 
the  vivifying  heat  and  fertilising  rain.  "  Every  day,"  said  a 
fetish  man,  "  we  see  how  the  grass,  corn,  and  trees  are  spring- 
ing forth  by  the  rain  and  sunshine  that  Njougmo  sends.  How 
should  he  not  be  the  Creator?"  *•  The  supreme  God  dwells 
in  an  august  calm,  surrounded  by  his  servants.  He  has  given 
birth  to  the  spirits  of  the  air,  or  the  Wongs,  who  serve  him  in 
heaven  and  on  earth.  They  are  charged  to  protect  and  to 
punish  men,  who  in  return  lavish  upon  them  their  gifts  and 
their  homage.  "Listen,"  say  the  priests,  "to  that  which 
Njougmo  says  to  you  by  my  fetish."  The  negro  exclaims,  on 
receiving  some  remedy  prescribed  by  his  fetish,  "  O  Father 
Njougmo,  make  this  remedy  effectual!"  It  is  from  the  supreme 
God  that  every  morning  they  ask  for  daily  bread.  "  Grant, 
Father  Njougmo,"  says  the  poor  savage,  "that  I  may  have 
something  to  eat."  He  begins  the  day  by  expressing  his 
gratitude  to  the  god.  He  asks  him  for  peace,  as  being  the 
highest  and  oldest  of  the  gods.  "  I  am  in  the  hand  of 
Njougmo,"  sings  the  negro.  "It  is  he  who  morning  by  morn- 
ing opens  the  great  gates  of  the  sun."  A  proverb  current  in 
that  district  says  that  Njougmo  created  the  world  and  was  tired 
of  it ;  no  doubt  to  represent  the  vastness  of  the  work.  If  he 
does  not  desire  presents  from  man,  it  is  that  the  Wongs,  who 
receive  them  in  his  stead,  are  his  sons.  They  are  innumerable, 
and  people  earth,  air,  and  water.  They  have  wives  and 
children,  are  subject  to  death,  but  then  pass  into  the  state  of 
shades.  They  are  arranged  in  a  hierarchy.  The  principal  of 
them  dwells  in  the  plain  Sabruma,  but  they  are  found  every- 
where in  nature,  and  also  in  the  idols.  In  this  belief  in  the 
supreme  God,  anthropomorphism  constantly  blends  with 
naturalism.  Among  the  Zulus,  the  first  man,  who  is  called 
Unkulunkulu,  has  become  the  ideal  of  the  Creator,  the 
Thunderer,  the  Heaven-god.  2 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  p.  315. 
f  Ibid.,  vol.  ii.,  p.  315. 


480  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

Waitz,  in  summing  up  all  that  can  be  gathered  of  the  religion 
of  the  negroes,  says,  that  from  north  to  south  of  Africa  they 
worship  a  supreme  God  in  addition  to  their  numberless  fetishes. 
His  presence  is  revealed  to  them  chiefly  in  the  thunder  and 
lightning  and  in  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Tshuku,  the  god  of  the 
Ibos,  has  created  all,  the  black  as  well  as  the  white.  He  never 
sleeps,  and  is  invisible,  although  he  dwells  on  an  island. l 
According  to  Waitz,  there  are  indications  that  the  religion  of 
the  negroes  has  undergone  important  alterations,  and  we  are 
thus  pointed  back  to  an  older  and  purer  type.  The  Ashantis 
worship  to-day  a  sun-god  ;  but  there  are  traces  among  them  of 
a  far  more  elevated  idea,  for  they  have  legends  of  a  personal 
God  who  created  all  things,  who  is  the  author  of  all  good 
and  knows  all  things,  even  the  most  secret  thoughts  of  men. 
He  pities  their  misery,  although  the  government  of  the  world 
is  abandoned  to  lower  and  generally  malevolent  deities.2 
"  Among  many  peoples,"  says  Waitz,  "  we  find  that  in  old 
times  the  religious  belief  was  far  purer  than  it  is  now.  Accord- 
ing to  the  legends  collected  by  the  negroes,  heaven  was  then 
nearer  to  man,  and  the  supreme  God  made  Himself  known  to 
them,  while  now  He  is  silent."3  This  supreme  God  is  called 
by  the  negro,  "He  who  made  me?'  Missionaries  tell  us  that 
the  negro  of  Western  Africa  is  rapidly  returning  to  this  high 
God.  "He  is  the  old,  old  One,  He  who  broke  off  in  the 
beginning,  the  great  Unkulunkulu,  the  Most  High,"  says  the 
Zulu,  "  I  am  in  His  hand."4  The  Basutos  had  preserved 
some  relics  of  a  purer  religion  in  the  midst  of  the  gross  fetish- 
ism which  they  were  practising  when  the  French  missionaries 
came  among  them.  They  had  completely  lost  the  idea  of  a 
supreme  God,  and  yet  their  legends  spoke  of  the  Lord.  They 
called  every  being  to  which  they  offered  worship  Molimo. 

1  "  Anthropologie,"  Waitz,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  168  sqq. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  171.  3  Ibid. 

4  "  Primitive  Culture,"  Tylor,  p.  284.  Among  the  Ashantis  there  is  a 
vague  idea  of  a  supreme  God,  or  Creator. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL   MAN.  481 

Now  Molimo  signifies,  He  who  is  in  heaven.  There  was  thus  a 
palpable  contradiction  between  their  language  and  the  ideas 
received  among  them.1 

We  gather  from  all  these  indications  that  the  primitive  faith 
of  the  uncivilised  world  is  really  monotheism;  and  that  fetish- 
ism, instead  of  being  the  first  stage  of  the  religious  evolution,  is 
on  the  contrary  its  first  downward  step.  Again,  this  degrada- 
tion is  never  so  absolute  as  it  is  represented  by  the  naturalistic 
schools,  the  fetishes  being  only  partial  manifestations  of  the 
deity.  It  follows  that  the  human  mind,  even  in  an  utterly  un- 
tutored state,  has  the  idea  of  the  divine  deeply  impressed  upon 
it.  Thus  Max  Miiller's  theories  of  primitive  monotheism  are 
vindicated,  and  they  are  further  confirmed  by  all  we  know  of 
the  first  developments  of  the  great  religions  of  civilised  races 
in  Egypt,  India,  and  Europe.  We  are  justified  then  in  con- 
cluding, as  he  does,  that  the  most  degraded  savages  possess 
the  idea  of  the  infinite  :  that  is  to  say,  of  a  force  distinct  from 
physical  forces,  acting  for  good  or  evil.2 

The  idea  of  a  future  life  is  inseparable  from  the  idea  of  God 
in  the  credo  of  the  savage.  Whatever  travesty  it  may  have 
undergone,  this  belief  throbs  in  the  breast  of  the  lowest  Bush- 
man, and  uplifts  him.  "We  are  now  prepared,"  says  Tylor, 
"  to  investigate  one  of  the  great  religious  doctrines  of  mankind, 
the  belief  in  the  soul's  continued  existence  in  a  life  after 
death."3  M.  Girard  de  Rialhe  thus  adds  his  confirmation  to 
what  Tylor  says  :  "  The  belief  in  something  inherent  in  our 
personality,  which  outlives  our  present  existence  or  continues 
it  in  another  world,  seems  to  be  universally  diffused  among 
mankind,  and  to  be  inborn  in  the  human  mind."4  The  fact 
is  so  patent  that  it  is  needless  to  multiply  examples.  From 

1  "  Les  Bassoutos,"  Casalis,  p.  302. 

3  "  Lectures   on   the   Growth  and   Origin  of  Religion,"   Max  Miiller, 
Lecture  I. 

*  "  Primitive  Culture,"  vol.  ii.,  ch.  xii. 

4  "  Mythologie  Comparee,"  Gerard  de  Rialhe,  p.  104. 

I 


482  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

the  monuments  especially  designed  to  recall  the  dead,  there 
arises  among  barbarous  races  the  most  powerful  attestation  of 
an  imperishable  life.  The  tomb  may,  indeed,  hold  the  mortal 
remains  of  man,  but  it  is  at  the  same  time  a  glorious  monu- 
ment of  his  faith  in  immortality.  The  forms  of  this  belief  are 
various.  Sometimes  it  is  reduced  to  the  idea  of  transmigra- 
tion of  souls,  as  among  the  Yarubas,  who  exclaimed  on  the 
birth  of  a  child,  after  having  lost  their  first-born,  "  Thou  art 
come  again  ! "  Or  as  among  the  Algonquins,  who  bury  their 
children  by  the  way- side,  in  the  hope  that  they  will  live 
again  in  the  first  woman  who  passes  by.1  Most  frequently  the 
savage  sees  in  the  life  beyond,  the  prolongation  of  the  earthly 
life  in  conditions  similar  to  those  of  the  present,  though  some- 
what modified.  Hence  his  care  to  place  beside  the  corpse  of 
the  deceased  his  tools  and  weapons,  and  hence  also  the  bar- 
barous custom  of  immolating  his  wives  and  servants  that  they 
may  form  his  retinue.  Abominable  as  these  customs  are  in 
themselves,  they  show  clearly  that  it  is  in  the  immortality  of 
the  individual  that  the  savage  believes,  and  not  in  an  absorp- 
tion of  the  soul  into  the  bosom  of  nature.2  The  very  manner 
in  which  burial  is  practised  recalls,  by  symbols  at  once  poeti- 
cal and  profound,  the  hope  of  man's  palingenesis.  The  dead  is 
constantly  laid  in  the  track  of  the  sun  from  east  to  west,  toward 
the  region  where  the  sun  only  sets  to  rise  again  in  renewed 
brilliancy.  The  soul,  in  the  mysterious  abode  to  which  it  re- 
pairs after  the  earthly  life,  will  pursue  the  same  course.  Like 
the  divine  star,  it  travels  towards  the  sun-rising.3  In  other 
places  the  corpse  is  doubled  together  like  the  child  in  the 
mother's  womb,  for  it  also  is  going  down  into  the  womb  of  the 
Great  Mother,  only  to  come  forth  again.  This  rite  is  observed 
in  countries  that  are  wide  apart. 

It  is  in  relation  to  the  future  life  that  the  idea  of  retribution 


1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  ii.,  ch.  xii. 
1  Ibid.  3  Ibid.,  vol.  ii.,  ch.  xviii. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  483 

finds  most  powerful  expression,  and  the  disputed  link  between 
the  moral  and  religious  idea  becomes  most  apparent.  Both 
ideas  have  indeed  at  times  suffered  eclipse,  but  even  this  has 
never  been  total.  The  moral  consciousness  has  never  ceased 
to  give  unmistakable  sign  of  its  vitality  through  all  travesties. 
The  feeling  of  moral  obligation  may  have  been  falsified  in  its 
application ;  but  the  idea  of  duty,  the  categorical  imperative, 
the  essence  of  which  is  the  distinction  between  good  and  evil, 
has  no  more  been  lost  among  savage  nations  than  has  religious 
belief.  The  two  ideas  have  always  met  in  the  end,  and  have 
found  common  recognition  in  the  idea  of  a  future  life.  "  The 
character  of  the  life  after  death,"  as  M.  Girard  de  Rialhe  justly 
observes,  "  is  determined  by  the  idea  which  the  various  human 
societies  form  of  good  and  evil."1 

If  bravery  is  held,  as  among  the  Caribs,  to  be  the  first  of 
virtues,  it  opens  Paradise  to  all  the  braves  of  the  nation,  who  are 
to  dance  and  feast  in  the  happy  island,  having  their  enemies  for 
slaves.2  On  the  other  hand,  the  peaceful  tribes  of  Guatemala 
shut  the  gates  of  Paradise  upon  shedders  of  blood.  Among  the 
Karens,  the  souls  of  the  dead  are  supposed  to  assume  different 
aspects,  determined  by  their  previous  life.  Sometimes  they 
become  divine  spirits ;  sometimes  they  appear  under  the  form 
of  monstrous  animals,  as  the  punishment  of  murder  or  adultery. 
The  good  go  to  rejoin  their  ancestors ;  the  bad,  on  the  con- 
trary, wander  about  as  restless  phantoms.  The  Dyaks  be- 
lieve that  "  as  the  smoke  of  the  funeral  pile  of  a  good  man  rises, 
the  soul  ascends  with  it  to  the  sky ;  and  that  the  smoke  from 
the  pile  of  a  wicked  man  descends,  and  his  soul  with  it  is 
borne  down  to  the  earth,  and  through  it  to  the  regions  below. 
In  Orissa,  again,  Khond  souls  have  to  leap  across  the  black 
unfathomable  river  to  gain  a  footing  on  the  slippery  Leaping 
Rock,  where  Dinga  Remu,  the  judge  of  the  dead,  sits  writing 
his  register  of  all  men's  daily  lives  and  actions,  sending  virtuous 

1  "  Mythologie  Comparee,"  p.  115. 

*  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  iv.,  chap.  xiii. 


484  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

souls  to  become  blessed  spirits,  keeping  back  wicked  ones, 
and  sending  them  to  suffer  their  penalties  in  new  birth  on 
earth."  * 

This  idea  of  future  retribution  is  closely  connected  with  that 
of  immortality.  Thus,  in  spite  of  all  the  superstitious  beliefs 
about  the  life  beyond  the  grave  (which  are  almost  all  associated 
with  the  fate  of  the  mortal  remains)  in  spite  of  the  faith  in 
ghosts  and  apparitions,  in  spite  of  all  the  strange  rites,  designed 
to  pacify  the  manes,  faith  in  the  immortal  destiny  of  man  still 
remains  a  fundamental  and  characteristic  trait  of  the  religion  ot 
savage  races.  Here  again,  we  say,  this  rude  superstition  was 
not  the  first  occupant  of  the  soul  of  man.  The  sublime  faith 
in  immortality  did  not  spring  from  so  low  a  source,  though  we 
can  easily  conceive  how  it  may  have  gradually  sunk  to  be  this 
base  and  grovelling  thing.  The  bird  who  trails  his  broken 
pinion  in  the  mire  is  not  in  his  native  element ;  the  very  struc- 
ture of  his  wings  shows  he  was  made  for  flight. 

The  moral  idea  does  not  find  its  only  expression  among 
savages  in  their  myths  of  a  future  life.  It  is  traceable  also  in 
their  very  elementary  psychology.  The  negroes  of  the  Gold 
Coast  call  the  spirit  which  animates  man  during  his  life  Kla. 
This  spirit  is  male  or  female.  If  male,  it  gives  evil  counsel ;  if 
female,  it  impels  to  good.  To  the  Kla  within,  there  is  an 
answering  Kla  without,  who  is  a  sort  of  familiar  spirit  or  guardian 
angel.  Thus,  these  savages  have  heard,  as  we  hear,  the  inner 
voice  which  enjoins  to  good.  They  believe  that,  after  death, 
the  spirit  of  man  is  called  Sisa.  Its  destinies  differ  widely  ;  it 
may  remain  in  the  phantom  state,  or  may  build  itself  a  house 
in  the  mysterious  abode  of  spirits.  Hence  it  is  probable 
that  a  correspondence  is  implied  between  its  fate  beyond  the 
grave  and  what  it  was  in  the  earthly  life.  There  is  much 
valuable  information  in  Casalis'  book  on  the  moral  ideas  of  the 
Basutos  before  their  contact  with  Christian  civilisation.2  We 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  iv.,  chap,  xiii.,  p.  86 
3  "  Les  Bassoutos,"  Casalis,  chap.  xv. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  485 

cannot  but  be  struck  with  the  elevation  of  many  of  their  views. 
The  idea  of  moral  evil  is  conveyed  in  their  language  by  such 
expressions  as  ugliness,  debt,  deficiency,  powerlessness.  Theft, 
adultery,  and  lying  are  unsparingly  denounced.  Their  moral 
ideas  are  expressed  in  an  original  and  lively  fashion  in  their 
proverbs.  We  give  a  few  examples.  "  Cunning  devours  its 
master."  "  There  is  blood  in  the  dregs."  "The  thief  catches 
himself."  "  Stolen  goods  cannot  grow."  "  Human  blood  is 
heavy,  and  will  not  let  him  flee  on  whose  hands  it  is."  "  If  a 
man  has  been  secretly  killed,  the  straw  of  the  fields  will  tell  it." 
"  A  good  name  gives  good  sleep."  On  the  occasion  of  the  rite 
of  circumcision,  the  young  Basuto  is  addressed  thus  :  "Amend 
thyself;  be  a  man,  fear  thieving,  fear  adultery;  honour  thy 
father  and  mother  ;  obey  the  chief."1 

The  naturalistic  school  make  much  of  rites,  as  reducing 
religion  to  mere  naturalism.  They  are  not  more  successful 
in  this  attempt  than  in  the  others  to  which  we  have 
adverted.  A  rite  consists  either  in  prayer  or  sacrifice.  Both 
elements  share  in  the  degeneracy  and  corruption  of  the  moral 
and  religious  life  among  savage  peoples.  And  yet,  even  in  the 
most  degraded  state,  they  bear  witness  to  the  inextinguishable 
desire  of  the  soul  of  man  to  seek  succour  from  the  mysterious 
divine  power  on  whom  he  feels  himself  dependent,  and  to  en- 
deavour to  propitiate  that  power  under  a  bitter  consciousness 
of  having  incurred  its  just  wrath  and  displeasure. 

Rites  always  bear  an  exact  relation  to  the  religious  belief. 
As  is  the  god,  so  is  his  worship  in  its  two  great  manifestations 
— prayer  and  sacrifice.  But  the  rite,  like  the  belief,  is  subject 
to  an  evolution  which  disengages  its  essential  elements  from 
that  which  encumbers  and  falsifies  them.  Prayer,  in  the  lowest 
phase  of  religious  belief,  is  nothing  more  than  a  request  for 
material  good.  Sacrifice  is  an  attempt  to  purchase  the  favour 
of  heaven  by  presents,  or  to  avert  the  wrath  of  an  angry  power. 
But  this  stage  is  soon  passed.  Prayer  becomes  an  outburst  of 
1  "Les  Bassoutos,"  Casalis,  p.  178. 


486  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

gratitude  and  adoration.  Sacrifice  is  no  longer  simply  a  gift ; 
it  implies  privation,  suffering,  the  partial  self-sacrifice  of  the 
offerer.  Hence,  it  acquires  an  expiatory  value  in  his  eyes. 
Lustration  expresses  the  deeply  felt  need  of  purification. 

It  is  easy  to  follow  this  progress  in  the  evolution  of  the  re- 
ligious life  among  savage  races.  The  following  petition  of  the 
natives  of  the  Samoan  islands  is  an  example  of  the  lowest  form 
of  prayer :  "  When  the  libation  of  kava  was  poured  out  at  the 
evening  meal,  the  head  of  the  family  prayed  thus :  *  Here  is 
kava  for  you,  O  gods,  look  kindly  towards  this  family ;  let  it 
prosper  and  increase,  and  let  us  all  be  kept  in  health.  Let 
our  plantations  be  productive ;  let  food  grow,  and  may  there 
be  abundance  of  food  for  us  your  creatures.  Here  is  kava  for 
you,  our  v/ar  gods.  Let  there  be  a  strong  and  numerous 
people  for  you  in  this  land.  Here  is  kava  for  you,  O  sailing 
gods  (gods  who  come  in  Tongan  canoes  and  foreign  vessels). 
Do  not  come  on  shore  at  this  place,  but  be  pleased  to  depart 
along  the  ocean  to  some  other  land.' " l  Among  the  Osages, 
prayers  used  not  long  since  to  be  offered  at  daybreak  to 
Wohkonda,  the  Master  of  Life.  In  an  uncouth  voice  of 
plaintive  piteous  tone,  the  devotee  howled  such  prayers  as 
these  :  "  Wohkonda,  pity  me,  I  am  very  poor ;  give  me  what  I 
need  ;  give  me  success  against  my  enemies,  that  I  may  avenge 
the  death  of  my  friends.  May  I  be  able  to  take  scalps, 
horses,  etc.  !"2 

A  Nootka  Indian,  preparing  for  war,  prayed  thus :  "  Great 
Quahootze,  let  me  live,  not  be  sick,  find  the  enemy,  not  fear 
him,  find  him  asleep,  and  kill  a  great  many  of  him  ! "  .  .  . 
The  Zulus,  addressing  the  spirits  of  their  ancestors,  think  it 
enough  to  call  on  them  without  saying  what  they  want.  The 
mere  utterance,  "  People  of  our  house  ! "  is  a  prayer.  Fuller 
forms  are  such  as  these :  "  People  of  our  house  !  Cattle ! 
People  of  our  house  !  Good  luck  and  health !  People  of  our 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  ii.,  chap,  xviii.,  p.  331. 
8  Ibid. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND   PRIMEVAL   MAN.  487 

house  !  Children  !  " l  The  following  prayer,  in  which  we  trace 
a  higher  tone,  is  recorded  as  belonging  to  the  native  religion  of 
semi-civilised  Peru.  It  is  addressed  to  the  world-deity:  "O 
Pachacamac,  thou  who  hast  existed  from  the  beginning,  and 
shalt  exist  unto  the  end,  powerful  and  pitiful ;  art  thou  in  the 
sky  or  in  the  earth,  in  the  clouds  or  in  the  depths  ?  Hear  the 
voice  of  him  who  implores  thee,  and  grant  him  his  petition. 
Give  us  life  everlasting ;  preserve  us,  and  accept  this  our 
sacrifice."2 

Prayer  rises  higher  when  it  no  longer  expresses  only  the 
craving  for  a  boon,  but  gratitude  for  favour  granted.  When 
the  Yebu  prays  :  "  God  in  heaven,  give  me  happiness  and 
wisdom,"  his  prayer  assumes  a  moral  character.  There  is  a 
touching  trustfulness  in  the  prayers  of  the  Khonds  :  "  We  are 
ignorant  of  what  it  is  good  to  ask  for.  You  know  what  is  good 
for  us.  Give  it  to  us!"3  In  the  following  prayer  of  the 
Aztecs  for  their  king  we  catch  an  aspiration  after  divine  purity 
and  righteousness :  "  Let  him  be,  O  Lord,  your  own  image. 
Do  not  let  him  be  proud  and  haughty  upon  your  throne.  Do 
not  let  him  do  harm,  act  without  reason  and  justice,  and  de- 
grade your  throne  by  iniquity."  Prayers  of  penitence  occur 
frequently  in  the  Vedas,  and  in  the  early  liturgical  documents 
of  Peru ;  hence  we  conclude  that  in  some  rude  form  they 
were  used  among  the  savage  races. 

The  idea  of  sacrifice  also  becomes  gradually  imbued  with 
a  moral  element.  So  long  as  the  divinity  is  conceived  under 
a  purely  material  shape,  the  savage  imagines  that  his  offering 
is  really  consumed.  The  New  Zealander,  feeding  the  wind, 
cries  :  "  Eat,  O  invisible  one,  listen  to  me,  let  that  food  bring 
you  down  from  the  sky."4  Subsequently  this  ethereal  god 
was  supposed  to  be  satisfied  with  the  smoke  of  the  sacrifice. 
Ultimately  the  idea  of  personal  immolation  and  expiation 


1  "Primitive  Culture,"  E.  B.  Tylor,  vol.  ii.,  chap,  xviii.,  p.  332. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  332.  »  Ibid.,  p.  335.  <  Ibid.,  pp.  341-343- 


488  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

predominates  in  the  sacrifice,  which  thus  expresses  the  sense 
of  guilt.  M.  Girard  de  Rialhe  says  :  "  When  a  fetishist  people 
has  offended  some  fetish,  it  hastens  to  inquire  of  the  priest 
what  fault  it  has  committed,  that  it  may  expiate  it  by  gifts  and 
sacrifices."1 

The  priesthood  in  these  low  religions  is  constantly  identified 
with  divination  and  the  magic  art.  Yet  beneath  all  this  we  can 
trace  the  deeper  idea  of  the  priesthood,  since  it  is  regarded  as 
a  sort  of  mediator  between  the  profane  and  the  deity.  "  The 
common  people  pray  to  the  fetish  and  offer  him  sacrifices  ;  but 
who  can  be  a  better  mediator  between  him  and  his  worshippers 
than  he  who  approaches  nearest  to  the  fetish  ?  "  2  Even  in  this 
distortion  of  the  primitive  religious  idea  we  trace  the  germ  of 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  are  the  glory  of  monotheism. 
The  rite  rudely  expresses  the  need  of  purification,  of  reconcilia- 
tion, of  pardon,  which  lies  deep  down  in  the  human  soul. 

The  truly  human  character  of  the  savage  is  apparent  in 
all  the  other  manifestations  of  his  intellectual  life  as  well  as 
in  his  religion.  That  he  is  a  reasonable  being  is  proved  by  the 
constant  use  which  he  makes  of  the  principle  of  causation,  to 
which  Mr.  Tylor  assigns  the  principal  part  in  the  formation  of 
religious  myths.  The  man  of  the  desert,  in  conceiving  these 
myths,  is  attempting,  in  the  depths  of  his  ignorance,  to  account 
for  the  concatenation  of  events.  The  arms  and  weapons 
which  he  contrives  indicate  a  capacity  to  remember,  to  foresee, 
and  to  infer,  which  no  mere  animal  possesses.  His  taste  for 
adornment  denotes  the  presence  of  the  aesthetic  faculty ;  and 
the  rudiments  of  society,  by  which  he  constitutes  the  family 
and  the  tribe  under  the  authority  of  its  chief,  show  him  to  be 
capable  of  rising  ultimately  to  that  higher  association,  governed 
by  law  and  liberty,  which  is  the  term  of  the  social  evolution. 
The  shocking  promiscuousness  of  the  Australian  natives  is  a 
monstrosity  even  among  savages,  who,  if  they  occasionally 

1  "Mythologie  Comparee,"  Girard  de  Rialhe,  p.  78. 

2  Ibid. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL   MAN.      .          489 

lapse  into  such  a  state,  soon  rise  out  of  it  again.  If  the 
primeval  state  of  man  had  been  one  of  absolute  abjectness 
and  anarchy,  he  would  never  have  originated  the  idea  of 
law  and  the  elements  of  civilisation.  It  is  because  we  find 
these  elements  present  even  in  savage  life,  though  confused 
and  often  falsified  in  their  application,  that  social  development 
is  possible  to  man  as  a  process  of  culture.  However  barbarous 
we  suppose  man's  original  state  to  have  been,  the  principles  of 
social  development  must  have  been  germinally  present,  even 
in  its  lowest  phases.  It  follows  that  this  barbarism  was  never 
utter,  or  it  would  have  been  irremediable;  for  evolution  does 
not  create,  but  only  develops  pre-existing  germs.  Ex  niJiilo 
nihil. 

The  evidence  that  the  savage  is  truly  a  man  lies  in  this,  that 
he  is  capable  of  being  educated,  and  of  attaining  even  the 
highest  stage  of  moral  and  religious  development.  We  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  this  result  always  follows  the  attempt  to 
educate  savages,  any  more  than  such  results  could  be  pre- 
dicated universally  among  civilised  nations.  There  are  perverse 
natures  which  turn  from  the  light.  We  freely  admit  that  it  is 
a  slow  and  very  gradual  process,  to  instil  into  a  barbarous 
nation  habits  of  civilisation  and  the  principles  of  a  truly 
spiritual  religion.  Nor  must  we  forget  how  this  civilisation  is 
often  represented  among  savage  nations — how  often  it  is  only 
a  refined  barbarism  which  seeks  to  use  to  its  own  advantage 
races  incapable  of  self-defence,  which  corrupts  and  slowly  kills 
them  off  by  the  inoculation  of  its  vices  and  the  introduction  of 
its  worst  alcoholic  poisons,  or  exterminates  them  with  cold- 
blooded cruelty.  If  the  highest  civilisation  is  based  upon 
respect  for  law  and  love  for  mankind,  if  the  untutored  life  of 
nature  is  primarily  characterised  by  violence  and  the  unbridled 
license  of  appetite,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  there  are  no  worse 
savages  than  those  who  buy  and  sell  their  fellow-men  for  kegs 
of  brandy.  The  contact  of  an  inferior  race  with  a  superior  one 
which  only  shows  its  superiority  in  the  fatal  art  of  corruption, 


490  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

is  always  fatal  to  the  former.  And  yet,  whenever  a  true  love 
for  man  has  animated  the  European  in  his  relations  with  un- 
civilised tribes,  whenever  he  has  carried  the  Gospel  to  them  in 
the  spirit  of  the  Gospel,  he  has  found  that  the  rudest  savage, 
even  the  cannibal,  has  been  capable  of  receiving  tha  highest 
religious  and  moral  truths.  The  proof  that  he  has  indeed 
received  them,  is  not  that  he  can  repeat  them  by  rote,  but  that 
he  can  invest  them  in  the  forms  of  thought  habitual  to  him, 
and  express  them  in  the  figurative  and  picturesque  language 
which  is  no  imported  exotic,  but  the  natural  wild  flower  of  the 
desert. 

The  history  of  missions,  which  have  made  such  rapid  and 
brilliant  progress  in  our  own  day,  supplies  abundant  proof  of 
the  capacity  of  the  savage  to  receive  education  of  every  sort 
Only  a  determined  and  blind  prejudice  can  lead  any  one 
acquainted  with  the  facts  to  say,  as  M.  Letourneau  says,  that  the 
influence  of  Christian  missions  on  the  inferior  races  is  most 
frequently  disastrous  or  nil.1  M.  Letourneau  is  so  bitter  in  his 
hostility  to  missions  that  he  does  not  hesitate  to  caluminate 
the  heroic  apostles  of  the  Gospel  who  in  our  own  day  have 
sealed  their  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  heathen  with  their 
blood.  He  boldly  charges  them  with  imposture.  According 
to  him,  there  is  an  understanding  among  all  missionaries  to 
deceive  Europeans.  Such  assertions  may  be  dismissed  in 
silence ;  the  moral  consciousness  pronounces  its  own  verdict 
on  them.  M.  Letourneau  attacks  with  especial  bitterness  a 
mission  particularly  known  to  us— the  mission  in  Basutoland. 
He  affirms  that  all  the  progress  said  to  have  been  achieved 
in  this  part  of  Africa  is  fictitious.  The  deception  practised 
by  the  missionaries  is  abetted  by  the  natives,  who  go  through 
the  farce  of  pretending  conversion  to  carry  on  the  joke.  M. 
Letourneau  has  got  his  evidence  from  a  young  chief  named 
Tsekelo,  who  was  in  Europe  some  time  since,  and  who  told 

1  "  Science  et  Materialisme,"  Letourneau,  p.  392. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND   PRIMEVAL  MAN.  491 

to  us  personally  a  very  different  tale.  We  would  refer  M. 
Letourneau  to  M.  Casalis'  book,  "  Les  Bassoutos."  M.  Casalis 
was  one  of  the  brave  pioneers  of  the  African  Mission,  and  his 
book  is  a  high  authority  on  one  phase  of  modern  anthropology. 
It  narrates  with  perfect  simplicity  the  unquestionable  results  of 
a  mission  slender  in  material  resources,  but  strong  in  faith  and 
self-devotion.  It  has  carried  intellectual  and  religious  culture 
among  a  rude  African  race  to  such  a  degree  that  missionaries 
are  coming  forth  from  it,  burning  with  zeal  to  bear  the  Gospel  of 
Christ  into  the  heart  of  Africa,  to  the  Zambesi,  following  in  the 
track  of  the  heroic  Caillard,  the  true  successor  of  Livingstone. 
One  of  these  native  evangelists,  whose  father  was  a  cannibal, 
has  fallen  under  the  fatigue  and  perils  of  a  first  exploration, 
praising  God  that  his  grave  will  be  the  stepping-stone  of  future 
missions. 

That  which  is  true  of  the  Basutos  is  equally  true  of  all 
savage  tribes.  Mr.  Taylor,  missionary  in  Senegal,  one  of  our 
most  able  speakers,  is  a  negro  whose  parents  were  kidnapped 
in  the  slave-trade.  Even  more  eloquent  than  his  words  is  his 
life  of  self-devotion.  During  the  prevalence  of  the  fearful  epi- 
demics which  desolate  our  colony  in  Senegal,  his  unflinching 
courage  has  been  universally  recognised.  Numbers  of  Euro- 
peans have  received  their  dying  consolation  from  his  lips. 
This  is  one  of  the  lesser  chapters  in  the  history  of  our  modern 
mission,  but  it  suffices  to  prove  that  the  lowest  savages  are 
capable  of  being  led  up  to  the  highest  conceptions  of  morality 
and  religion,  and  of  imparting  these  again  to  their  fellow- 
countrymen  in  their  own  idiom  of  thought  and  speech. 

This  higher  development,  then,  corresponds  to  man's  true 
nature,  and  this  great  monotheistic  conception  must  have  been 
present  in  him,  virtually,  in  the  rude  infancy  of  his  age  and 
race.  We  gather,  further,  that  the  moral  unity  of  man  is  a 
great  reality,  since  the  contact  of  the  most  widely  differing 
races  is  fruitful  of  intellectual  and  moral,  no  less  than  of 
physical  results. 


492  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

II.  THE  MAN  OF  THE  CAVES  AND  LAKE-DWELLINGS.* 

The  discovery  of  the  Man  of  the  Caves  was  an  unhoped-for 
stroke  of  fortune  to  the  materialistic  school.  It  is  adduced 
confidently  as  a  proof,  far  more  decisive  than  the  savage,  of 
the  lovvness  of  our  origin.  How,  we  are  asked,  can  we  recog- 
nise a  creature  gifted  with  reason  in  that  Troglodyte,  whom 
we  find  living  in  the  recesses  of  his  cave  in  the  midst  of  the 
mangled  limbs  of  the  prey  he  is  about  to  devour,  like  the  wild 
beast  in  his  lair,  or  the  carrion  bird  over  the  bleaching  bones 
of  his  quarry?  In  view  of  this  rude  being,  who  is  unquestion- 
ably our  ancestor,  we  are  told  that  we  must  cease  to  speak  of 
any  interval  between  man  and  the  brute.  On  the  contrary,  we 
hold  that  it  was  never  more  marked,  because  human  intelligence 
was  never  more  completely  left  to  its  own  resources,  to  sustain 
the  stern  conflict  against  the  forces  of  nature. 

We  know  by  what  wonderful  discoveries  the  anthropology 
of  the  day  has  arrived  at  the  Cave-man,  without  the  aid  of 
any  documents  but  a  few  pebbles  and  broken  relics  that  had 
lain  buried  for  thousands  of  years  in  dark  caverns  and  sub- 
terraneous recesses,  and  the  detritus  of  food  heaped  together 
in  hopeless  confusion.  A  few  fragments  of  flint  discovered 
by  M.  Boucher  de  Perthes  gave  the  first  impetus  to  prehistoric 
science.  His  interpretations,  long  contested,  were  ultimately 
received.  Then  followed  innumerable  fragments  of  primitive 
tools,  stone  weapons  of  the  rudest  form  found  in  the  caves  of 
la  Ve'zere,  la  Madelaine,  and  Solutre'  in  France.2  Finally,  the 

1  See   "Prehistoric  Man,"    Sir  John  Lubbock.      "Conference    sur  les 
Troglodytes  de  la  Vezere,"  M.  Broca.     "L'Espece  Humaine,"  Quatrefages. 
"  L'Homme  avant  les  Metaux,"  Joly.      "Les  Premiers  Hommes  et  les 
Temps  Prehistoriques,"  Marquis  de  Nadaillac.     "Habitations  des  Temps 
Lacustres   et  Modernes,"   Frederic  Troyon.      "La    France    aux    Temps 
Prehistoriques,"  M.  de  Mortillet  (Bulletin  de  la  Societe  Anthropologique, 
October,  1871,  p.  271). 

2  See  in  "Les  Premiers  Hommes  et  les  Temps  Prehistoriques,"  M.  de 
Nadaillac,  a  detailed  account  of  these  discoveries. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  493 

"Kjokkenmoddinger"  in  Denmark,  artificial  hills  produced  by 
the  refuse  from  the  rude  kitchens  of  our  most  remote  ancestors 
• — were  added  to  the  evidence,  which  was  by  this  time  beginning 
to  be  more  clearly  understood.  In  the  last  twenty  years,  such 
discoveries  have  gone  on  multiplying  in  almost  all  lands,  both 
in  the  old  and  the  new  world.1  In  Mexico,  in  the  alluvial  beds 
of  the  Rio  Juchipila,  hatchets  of  the  most  ancient  type  have 
been  found.  Near  Guanajuato,  a  lance  of  the  same  period, 
and  in  the  valley  of  Mexico,  knives  of  equally  ancient  date. 
Remains  of  human  skeletons  have  been  dug  up  from  deposits 
evidently  belonging  to  the  quaternary  period.  Similar  disco- 
veries have  been  made  in  the  woods  of  Honduras  and  in 
Connecticut.  America  also  has  its  Kjbkkenmoddinger.  The 
hillocks  left  by  the  so-called  mound-builders,  there  met  with 
in  such  large  numbers,  seem  to  have  a  funereal  and  religious 
significance.  They  belong  to  the  age  of  the  earliest  metals. 
The  Choulpas  of  Peru  and  Bolivia — monuments  older  than 
the  Incas — are  funeral  crypts  which  rest  upon  great  stones  and 
have  a  roof  formed  of  enormous  slabs.2 

The  fine  anthropological  collections  brought  together  in  the 
Paris  Exhibition  of  1878  made  it  abundantly  evident  that  we 
have  to  do,  not  with  exceptional  and  isolated  facts,  but  with  a 
long  period  of  the  general  development  of  the  race. 

At  the  same  time  that  the  evidences  of  the  activity  of  our 
remote  ancestors  were  being  traced  far  beneath  the  surface  of 
our  often-convulsed  earth,  their  own  remains  were  also  dis- 
covered. Old  discoveries,  like  that  of  the  skull  in  the  Neander- 
thal, began  to  assume  new  meaning,  as  they  were  collated  with 
later  discoveries.  The  principal  remains  found  in  France  were 
a  jaw-bone  discovered  at  Moulin-Quignon  by  M.  Boucher  de 

1  We  are  much  indebted  to  M.  de  Mortillet's  able  comments  on  these 
discoveries,   given  in  connexion  with  the   Anthropological  Exhibition  of 

1878. 

2  "  Les  Premiers  Hommes  et  les  Temps  Prehistoriques,"  M.  de  Nadail- 
lac,  vol.  ii.,  chap.  viii. 


494  THE   PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

Perthes,  and  the  skeleton,  almost  complete,  of  the  big-boned  old 
man,  found  in  the  cave  of  Croz-Magnon,  in  Perigord.  Similar 
discoveries  were  made  in  caves  in  England,  in  Belgium,  and 
at  Mentone.1  The  most  eminent  anthropologists  agreed,  after 
prolonged  discussion,  in  recognising  the  high  antiquity  of  these 
fragments  of  weapons,  tools,  and  human  skeletons.  They 
proved  that  man  was  living  in  the  quaternary  period,  possibly 
in  the  tertiary.  The  latter  point  remains  open,  lacking  suffi- 
cient evidence.2  That  which  is  beyond  question  is,  that  our 
remote  ancestor  was  contemporary  with  the  great  geological 
crises  of  the  quaternary  period.  We  do  not  enter  into  the 
discussion  of  the  ingenious  attempts  made  to  establish  the 
subdivisions  of  the  chronology  of  this  dim  antiquity,  whether 
based  upon  the  nature  of  the  strata  in  which  the  human  re- 
mains and  tools  are  found,  or  on  the  progress  of  his  workman- 
ship, traces  of  which  have  been  discovered  in  the  various  caves 
hitherto  opened.  Of  this  workmanship  there  seem  to  be  three 
distinct  types  :  first,  that  of  the  cave  of  St.  Acheul ;  second, 
that  of  the  Madelaine  ;  third,  that  of  Solutre. 

These  chronological  divisions  are  of  necessity  somewhat 
arbitrary — first,  because  it  is  never  certain  that  the  superposed 
geological  strata  have  not  undergone  some  changes,  and  also 
because  we  sometimes  find  in  the  same  caves  tools  and  weapons 
belonging  to  different  dates.3  We  shall  confine  ourselves  to 

1  "  L'Espece  Humaine,"  Quatrefages,   chap.   xxv.     "L'Homme  avant 
les  Metaux,"  Joly,  chap.  ii. 

2  "  The  striated  or  incised  bones  found  by  M.  Desnoyers  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Chartres,  like  those  found  in  the  tertiary  strata  of  Italy  by  M. 
Capillari,  are  insufficient  to  prove  the  handiwork  of  man  ;  for  it  has  been 
admitted  that  these  incisions  may  have  been  produced  by  the  teeth  of  aquatic 
animals.     The  incised  flint  found  at  Thenay  by  Abbe  Bourgeois,  in  a  ter- 
tiary geological  stratum,  leaves  the  question  of  human  workmanship  equally 
doubtful.    The  Anthropological  Congress  of  Brussels,  in  1872,  left  the  ques- 
tion still  undecided.     The  remains  of  human  bones  assigned  to  the  same 
date  are  also  open  to  doubt."  —  Nadaillac,  vol.  ii.,  chap.  iv.  ;  Joly,  chap.  viii. 

3  "Les  Premiers  Hommes  etles  Temps  Prehistoriques,"  Nadaillac,  vol  i., 
chap.   iv.     See  M.  Mortillet's  paper  read  at  the  Prehistoric  Congress  in 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  495 

the  following  great  divisions,  which  are  undisputed  : — First,  the 
stone  age  ;  second,  the  bronze  age  ;  third,  the  iron  age.  It  is 
evident  that  if  stone  implements  co-existed  at  a  certain  period 
with  those  in  bronze  or  iron,  there  was  nevertheless  a  long 
period  in  which  stone  only  was  used,  and  in  this  period,  an 
early  stage  in  which  the  stone  was  not  polished.  This  gives 
us  then  the  palaeolithic  and  neolithic  period.  It  is  of  this 
period  only  that  we  shall  speak  in  any  detail,  for  the  bronze 
age  brings  us  to  the  threshold  of  the  historic  era,  and  the  iron 
age  is  altogether  historic.  Wo  do  not  enter  into  any  of  the 
discussions  as  to  races  said  to  have  been  discovered  from  the 
palaeolithic  period,  the  conclusions  being  founded  on  diversi- 
ties of  cranial  formation.  M.  Quatrefage's  book,  "L'Espece 
Humaine,"  gives  exact  and  ample  information  on  all  these 
points.  He  distinguishes  three  primitive  races  in  Europe  in 
the  prehistoric  ages  : — 

First. — The  Cronstadt  race,  so  named  from  the  village  where 
the  first  human  fossil  was  discovered,  in  1700.  The  skull  found 
in  1857  in  the  Neanderthal,  belongs  to  the  same  type,  slightly 
exaggerated.  This  race  was  specially  characterised  by  the 
elliptical  form  of  the  cranial  vault,  the  forehead  being  low 
and  the  eyebrows  prominent. 

Second. — The  race  of  Croz-Magnon,  with  brow  fully  de- 
veloped and  a  well-proportioned  cranial  vault. 

Third. — The  race  of  Furfooz,  a  Belgian  district  famous  for  its 
very  successful  excavations.  This  race  has  a  retreating  fore- 
head and  broad  face.  The  two  earlier  races  are  dolichocephalous 
(or  with  elongated  cranium),  that  of  Furfooz  is  brachycephalous 
(or  with  narrow  cranium). 

It  does  not  concern  us  to  inquire  into  the  differences  that 
may  have  existed  between  these.  It  is  certain  that  they  crossed 
and  intermingled  in  the  prehistoric  period,  and  that  as  a  whole, 
the  man  of  these  remote  ages,  to  whatever  ethnographical 

Brussels,  1872,  and  at  the  Scientific  Association  at  Bordeaux,  1872.  See 
also  his  paper  on  "  La  France  aux  Temps  Prehistoriques." 


496  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

branch  he  belongs,  presents  well-marked  characteristic  features, 
not  varying  essentially  from  one  another.  We  shall  look  at  the 
type  of  the  man  of  the  caves  in  the  race  of  Croz-Magnon, 
which  is  undoubtedly  of  high  antiquity.  We  shall  endeavour 
to  bring  out  his  true  and  living  image  from  these  strange  docu- 
ments, which  lay  so  long  trodden  under  our  feet,1  and  which 
alone  suffice  to  bring  up  before  us  a  past  that  has  no  history, 
and  that  was  long  lost  in  the  ever-deepening  darkness  of  by- 
gone ages.  All  we  aim  to  establish  is  the  high  antiquity  of 
man.  Formerly  science  was  satisfied  with  showing  how  ad- 
vanced was  the  civilisation  which  the  fathers  of  the  Hebrew 
race  witnessed  in  the  land  of  the  Pharaohs.  Egyptology 
discovered,  year  by  year,  new  dynasties  of  kings,  carrying 
back  the  dates  far  beyond  the  chronology  wrongly  supposed 
to  be  given  in  the  Bible,  which,  as  now  understood,  is  no  more 
a  manual  of  exact  dates  than  of  exact  science.  What  science 
now  teaches  us  is,  that  man  was  living  in  Europe  at  the  same 
time  as  the  last  antediluvian  animals,  in  an  age  when  the  mam- 
moth inhabited  the  South  of  France,  when  the  reindeer  was 
cropping  the  grass  scorched  up  to-day  by  the  burning  sun  of 
Spain,  and  that  he  was  able  to  endure  a  climate  altogether 
different  from  that  of  the  last  geologic  era.  This  result  is  all 
we  require,  for  we  are  not  concerned  to  go  into  details  which 
are  probably  still  somewhat  uncertain.  M.  de  Nadaillac  says  : 
"  The  study  of  our  globe,  and  of  the  various  fauna  which  have 
successively  lived  upon  it,  carries  back  the  past  of  our  race  far 
beyond  historic  tradition ;  but  cosmography,  biology,  geology, 
and  palaeontology  all  alike  fail  to  solve  the  great  problem  of  our 
origin."  2 

1  "  Primitive  Man."     Duke  of  Argyll. 

2  "  Les  Premiers  Hommes  et  les  Temps    Prehistoriques,"   Nadaillac, 
vol.  ii.,  p.  530.     It  is  very  difficult  to  fix  the  chronology  of  the  different 
strata  by  calculating  the  time  necessary  to  the  stratification  or  transforma- 
tion of  the  banks  of  streams,  because  it  is  impossible  to  tell  whether  acci- 
dental causes  have  not  altered  the  superposition  of  the  various  layers  of  soil. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  497 

It  is  enough  for  us  to  establish  this  high  antiquity  of  man, 
separated  from  us  not  only  by  a  vast  interval  of  time,  but 
also  by  geologic  convulsions  which  have  altogether  changed 
the  face  of  the  earth  on  which  we  live.  Yet  it  is  from  this 
fabulously  distant  past  that  we  get  testimony  of  more  value 
than  any  manuscripts  in  our  libraries  as  to  the  true  character 
of  prehistoric  man. 

The  first  witness  we  will  call  up  from  these  remote  ages  is  a 
piece  of  flint  curiously  marked.  The  nineteenth  century,  which 
alone  has  found  the  key  to  interpret  the  language  of  these 
stones,  was  not  the  first  .to  discover  them.  The  ploughshare 
had  turned  up  more  than  one  such  relic.  Popular  superstition 
ascribed  their  markings  to  the  action  of  lightning.  The  truth 
was  far  more  startling.  The  lightning  which  cleft  these  stones 
had  come,  not  out  of  the  clouds  of  heaven,  but  from  the  in- 
tellect of  man.  It  was  his  hand,  guided  by  thought,  which 
had  shaped  and  fashioned  the  flint.  Strange  to  say,  it  only 
needed  that  the  impress  of  conscious  toil  should  be  recognised 
on  this  rough  stone,  and  at  once  the  conclusion  was  drawn — it 
is  the  work  of  mind ;  and  yet  the  savants  who  so  readily  dis- 
cern the  impress  of  mind  in  this  crude  implement,  refuse  to 
recognise  it  in  this  vast  universe,  teeming  with  the  evidence 
of  thought ! 

We  can  hardly  too  much  admire  this  Troglodyte  of  the 
olden  time  for  the  intelligence  and  energy  he  must  have  dis- 
played in  his  transition  through  the  geological  period.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  certain  that  he  must  have  witnessed  formid- 
able cataclysms  in  the  history  of  our  planet.  These  may  have 
been  spread  over  a  longer  or  shorter  period,  and  may  have 
been  more  or  less  severe  in  their  character ;  but  the  changes 
wrought  by  them  must  have  been,  in  any  case,  immense, 
"The  quaternary,  or  glacial,  period,"  says  Quatrefages, 
"  made  the  conditions  of  human  existence  very  severe.  All 
that  then  existed  of  the  continent  of  Europe  must  have  been 
surrounded  by  the  sea,  and  subject  to  the  consequences  of  an 

K  K 


498  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

insular  climate,  that  is,  to  a  very  damp  and  tolerably  uniform 
temperature,  chilled,  for  the  most  part  at  least,  by  icebergs 
from  the  pole  drifting  into  its  neighbourhood.  The  heavy 
rains,  frequent  in  all  seasons,  would  change  into  falls  of  snow 
on  the  heights  and  would  feed  the  vast  glaciers,  traces  of 
which  are  discernible  about  our  mountain  chains.  Great 
watercourses  would  push  their  way  through  the  valleys  in 
some  directions,  and  in  others  would  make  great  alluvial  beds. 
This  wet  and  storm-driven  land  sustained  a  fauna  which  com- 
prised, besides  some  existing  species,  others,  of  which  some 
have  disappeared  and  some  migrated  to  remote  regions.  Of 
the  former  were  the  mammoth,  the  rhinoceros  with  septate 
nostrils,  the  Irish  elk,  the  cave-bear,  the  hyaena  and  tiger  of 
the  caverns;  of  the  latter  were  the  reindeer,  the  eland,  the 
aurochs,  the  hippopotamus,  and  the  lion.1 

It  was  on  this  agitated  earth,  in  contact  with  these  terrible 
wild  beasts,  that  a  feeble  creature  victoriously  maintained  the 
struggle  for  existence,  at  once  against  the  unchained  forces 
of  nature  and  against  those  mighty  beasts  which  could  have 
crushed  him  at  a  step.  As  Pascal  says,  one  little  breath  of 
noxious  vapour  suffices  to  kill  him ;  one  small  stone  from  the 
brook  is  enough  to  break  this  frail  reed,  which  is  at  issue  with 
the  furious  elements  and  with  monsters  possessing  the  most 
terrible  natural  weapons.  And  yet  this  reed  lifts  up  itself  and 
holds  its  head  erect  when  the  mammoth,  and  with  him  all  the 
mightiest  animals  of  the  age  have  disappeared.  Not  only  does 
he  triumph  over  them,  but  he  has  outlived  the  cataclysms  to 
which  they  succumbed  because  they  had  no  faculty  of  adapt- 
ing themselves  to  a  change  of  environment.  All  this  gives 
confirmation  to  the  remarks  we  have  already  quoted  from 
Robert  Wallace  as  to  the  exceptional  character  of  man,  who, 
by  his  intellect,  controls  the  laws  of  natural  selection,  and 
renders  himself  more  and  more  independent  of  the  fatality  of 
environment.  This  survival  of  man  through  the  glacial  age  in 
1  "  L'Unite  de  1'Espece  Humaine."  Quatrefages. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  499 

the  very  Countries  from  which  the  antediluvian  animals  have 
disappeared  either  through  death  or  migration,  is  the  best 
proof  that,  long  before  history  began,  man  possessed  all  the 
attributes  which  make  him  a  king  upon  earth.  Never  was 
the  disproportion  between  his  physical  weakness  and  the 
obstacles  he  has  to  surmount  more  strongly  marked.  Without 
the  invisible  energy  which  is  in  him,  and  which  permits  him  to 
make  use  for  himself  of  the  forces  of  nature,  even  when  they 
seem  leagued  for  his  destruction,  he  would  long  ago  have  dis- 
appeared, leaving  only  some  paltry  relics  of  his  bones,  which 
would  have  made  a  poor  figure  beside  the  skeletons  of  the 
monsters  that  he  overcame. 

Let  it  be  observed  that  it  is  not  a  new  species  which  appears 
at  the  end  of  the  quaternary  age,  the  beginning  of  our  present 
geologic  era.  The  humanity  from  which  we  spring  is  the  direct 
offspring  of  the  Troglodytes.  No  sensible  transformation  has 
taken  place  in  it.  The  old  man  of  Croz-Magnon  has,  from  a 
physical  point  of  view,  all  the  characteristics  of  the  noblest  races. 
He  is  of  upright  stature ;  his  hand  has  the  delicacy  of  structure 
which  makes  it  the  subtle  and  docile  instrument  of  the  will. 
The  cranium  is  superb,  the  brow  lofty.  It  is  man  as  we  know 
him,  where  he  has  not  undergone  any  serious  actual  degenera- 
tion.1 He  is  already  fully  developed  morally  and  intellectually. 
There  is  ample  evidence  of  this  in  the  tangible  proofs  of  his 
activity,  which  make  him  live  again  before  us  j  for  the  count- 
less relics  taken  from  the  caves,  the  tombs,  and  the  Kjokken- 
moddinger  bear  the  clear  impress  of  his  mind  and  thought. 

That  which  strikes  us  at  once  in  these  products  of  primitive 
industry,  is  the  steady  advance  they  exhibit  from  the  palaeo- 
lithic epoch  to  the  Palafites  of  the  Swiss  lake-dwellings,  before 
the  metal  age.  At  first,  the  stone  is  simply  chipped  off,  as  in 
the  hatchets  of  the  St.  Acheul  type,  which  are  in  the  form 

1  The  cranial  capacity  of  the  old  man  of  Croz-Magnon  is,  according  to 
M.  Broca,  1590  cubic  centimetres,  that  is  1 19  centimetres  above  the  average 
obtained  by  M.  Broca  from  125  Parisian  crania  of  the  igth  century. 


SOD  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

of  an  almond.  Then  we  have  the  scrapers,  and  the  triangular 
arrow-heads  cut  on  one  side,  after  the  Moustier  type.  The 
arrows  of  the  Solutre  type  are  cut  in  the  form  of  a  laurel- 
leaf.  In  the  Madelaine  age,  the  bones  of  animals  begin  to 
be  worked,  as  well  as  the  stone.  Lastly,  in  the  Rohenhausen 
period  we  have  the  polished  stone.1  Similar  progress  is  trace- 
able in  clothing  and  dwellings,  as  is  shown  by  the  pile-dwell- 
ings of  the  Palafites,  which  date  from  the  end  of  the  stone  age. 
It  follows  that,  from  the  earliest  days,  man  advanced  along  the 
path  of  progress.  The  movement  of  history  begins  with  pre- 
historic humanity.  Evolution  is  possible  so  soon  as  man,  by 
using  his  intellect,  makes  previous  acquirements  the  starting- 
point  for  fresh  ones.  Thenceforth  the  fluctuating  tides  of 
sensation  can  no  longer  carry  all  along  with  them.  The  very 
fact  that  man  makes  a  tool,  holds  in  itself  all  his  future ;  for 
before  he  shapes  the  stone  against  which  he  struck  his  foot, 
as  it  lay  in  his  path,  he  must,  under  the  stimulus  of  a  want, 
have  formed  first  the  idea  that  he  could  make  it  useful  by 
adapting  it  to  his  necessities,  and  then,  by  an  induction  which 
reason  alone  renders  possible,  he  must  have  foreseen  that, 
under  similar  circumstances,  this  roughly  hewn  flint  would 
always  answer  the  same  purpose.  Prehistoric  man  took  posses- 
sion of  the  future  for  himself  and  his  descendants  on  the  day 
when,  by  his  own  effort,  he  made  for  himself  a  tool  or  a  weapon. 
We  refer  the  reader  to  the  works  of  the  specialists  whose 
names  we  have  given  (and  to  those  of  Boyd-Dawkins),  for  a 
detailed  description  of  these  first  instruments  of  man's  activity 
— axes,  hatchets,  and  arrow  heads.  The  scraper  was  a  great 
advance,  because  it  was  intended  to  prepare  other  tools,  and 
really  inaugurated  industrial  work  properly  so  called.  Numer- 
ous vestiges  have  been  found  of  the  existence  of  workshops  for 
the  manufacture  of  tools  and  weapons,  belonging  to  the  end 
of  the  palaeolithic  age.  "  How  else  can  we  explain  the  flints, 
the  greater  part  of  which  seem  never  to  have  been  used,  still 
1  "  L'Homme  avant  les  Metaux."  Joly. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  501 

covering  acres  of  ground  and  lying  by  the  side  of  the  nuclei 
from  which  they  have  been  detached,  as  at  Pressigny  in  Indre 
et  Loire?"1  The  needle  marks  another  stage  of  progress. 
It  shows  that  the  hunter  was  no  longer  satisfied  with  throw- 
ing over  his  shoulders  the  skin  of  the  beast  he  had  killed. 
The  needle  serves  to  sew  it  together,  and  implies  a  process 
modifying  the  materials  directly  furnished  by  nature.  It  may 
also  suggest  a  growing  modesty. 

The  ashes  found  in  the  caves,  the  fragments  of  charcoal  dis- 
covered beside  blocks  of  granite  of  circular  shape,  which  seem 
to  have  been  intended  to  facilitate  the  rubbing  together  of  two 
pieces  of  wood,  reveal  the  use  of  fire,  that  great  instrument  of 
civilisation.2  Fire  seemed  so  precious  to  primitive  man  that 
he  deified  it.  Schiller  poetically  calls  the  leaping  flame,  the  free 
daughter  of  nature.  As  long  as  it  is  nothing  more  than  this, 
it  can  render  no  real  service  to  man ;  it  burst  forth  only  to  con- 
sume him  and  to  destroy  his  dwelling.  As  rapidly  extinguished 
as  kindled,  it  leaves  after  it  nothing  but  smoke  and  ruins. 
But  man  has  learnt  to  subdue  this  free  daughter  of  nature,  and 
to  win  from  her  her  secret,  so  as  to  use  it  at  his  pleasure.  No 
matter  how  he  does  it.  The  first  man  who,  by  rubbing  two 
dry  sticks  together,  made  the  sparks  fly  out,  was  the  great 
initiator,  the  Prometheus  of  this  dark  world.  The  mode  of 
feeding  was  thenceforward  greatly  changed  and  improved,  and 
the  first  stone  of  the  domestic  hearth  was  laid.  By  means  of 
fire,  pottery  was  introduced  into  the  cave  of  the  Troglodyte. 
He  was  thus  able  to  store  up  provisions,  and  became  much 
less  dependent  on  the  daily  spoils  of  the  chase.  We  do  not 
know  when  he  learnt  to  grind  his  grain,  but  it  was  long  before 
the  period  of  the  polished  stone.3  The  Palafites  are,  in  fact, 
both  agriculturists  and  fishers.  Fishing  brought  a  large  con- 
tribution to  the  food  of  primitive  times.  The  remains  of  sea 
fish  prove  that  there  must  have  been  daring  expeditions  far 

1  "L'Homme  avant  les  Metaux,"  Joly,  chap.  ii. 
8  Ibid.  3  Jbid.,  p.  239. 


502  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

from  home,  and  the  existence  of  a  sort  of  trade  with  the  mari- 
time tribes.  We  are  justified,  then,  in  supposing  extensive 
relations  among  different  tribes,  in  the  palaeolithic  age.  In  the 
caves  of  Solutre",  the  systematic  heaping  up  of  the  bones  of 
horses  which  had  contributed  to  the  food  of  its  inhabitants, 
has  led  to  the  supposition  that  already  some  domestication  3f 
animals  was  practised.1  The  dwellings  appear  to  have  retained 
their  primitive  character  till  the  time  when  the  lake-dwellers 
built  pile-habitations  on  the  lakes  and  watercourses  to  secure 
their  safety.  The  Troglodyte,  as  his  name  indicates,  usually 
contented  himself  with  adapting  to  his  use  such  caves  as  offered 
him  a  natural  shelter.  Navigation  was  certainly  known  in  the 
pre-historic  age ;  the  museums  of  Switzerland  exhibit  numbers 
of  boats  used  by  the  lake-dwellers.  To  this  primitive  man, 
then,  we  must  apply  Horace's  lines  on  the  heroism  of  the  first 
navigator.  We  ask  ourselves,  What  sort  of  social  life  could 
there  be  in  this  age?  Family  affection  manifests  itself  chiefly 
in  the  forms  of  burial,  which  we  shall  look  at  presently  from 
a  higher  point  of  view.  Care  for  the  remains  of  the  dead  is 
only  to  be  explained  if  a  real  bond  existed  among  the  living. 
We  cannot  but  observe  how  far  removed  this  bond  of  human 
affection  is  from  the  merely  animal  instinct  which  unites  the 
male  and  female  to  their  little  ones.  Here  death  has  put  an 
end  to  everything  connected  with  sensation,  and  yet  affection 
lives  on,  ennobled  and  purified.  Families  seem,  even  in  this 
early  age,  to  have  been  grouped  under  the  authority  of  a  chief, 
as  is  indicated  by  the  carved  and  ornamented  rods  supposed 
to  be  the  emblems  of  authority.2  It  follows  that  some 
authority  was  recognised  in  the  tribe,  and  that  it  had  a  vague 
intuition  of  the  idea  of  the  State.  It  is  remarkable  that  the 
symbol  of  command  should  not  have  been  a  weapon,  repre- 
senting force ;  but  an  almost  religious  emblem.  We  may 

1  "  L'Homme  avant  les  Metaux,"  Joly,  p.  239. 

2  M.  de  Nadaillac  gives  in  his  book  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  rods  of 
authority. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  503 

fairly  suppose  that  this  primitive  social  organisation  was  based 
upon  some  of  those  notions  of  justice  without  which  no  social 
bond  is  possible. 

The  Troglodyte,  in  spite  of  the  rude  conditions  of  his  life  of 
battle  and  the  chase,  knew  also  something  of  luxury,  which 
it  has  been  truly  said  is  a  necessary  thing,  since  it  gives 
satisfaction  to  those  properly  human  desifes  which  are  not  of 
the  senses  only.  Luxury,  taking  the  word  in  its  deeper  mean- 
ing, is  indispensable  to  the  creature  endowed  with  intelligence, 
imagination,  and  sensibility,  even  in  its  lowest  degree  of 
development.  Hence  those  primitive  manifestations  of  the 
aesthetic  faculties  which  find  a  simple  satisfaction  in  dress  and 
ornament.  Rings  and  necklets  are  found  in  the  caves  of  this 
period  in  great  numbers.  Decoration  is  not  merely  the  amuse- 
ment of  vanity ;  it  corresponds  to  that  vague  aspiration  after 
the  beautiful  which  impels  man  to  transform  the  prosaic  real. 
But  the  Troglodyte  did  more  than  merely  adorn  and  ornament 
himself  and  his  implements  and  emblems  of  authority.  He 
really  inaugurated  art,  for  there  is  no  mistaking  the  essential 
character  in  the  designs  graven  or  sculptured  on  the  bones  cf 
animals  killed  in  the  chase.  When  pre-historic  man  represents 
in  rude  carving,  but  with  no  lack  of  graphic  power,  the  rein- 
deer, or  the  mammoth,  or  a  hunting  scene,  he  is  not  pursuing 
any  utilitarian  end.  Such  representations  can  give  him  only 
the  ideal  pleasure  of  contemplation.  When  the  daily  toil  in 
quest  of  food  is  over,  he  likes  to  reproduce  the  panting  beast 
he  has  been  pursuing,  or  to  revive  the  impression  of  grandeur 
which  the  stately  mammoth  has  produced  upon  him.  He 
chooses  to  represent  such  objects  in  nature  as  have  most  struck 
him,  and  awakened  in  him  some  sentiment  of  admiration.  He 
reaches  a  higher  stage  in  this  primitive  art,  when  he  rudely 
sculptures  himself  triumphing  over  a  powerful  enemy,  as  in 
that  admirable  and  expressive  carving  on  bone,  in  which  we 
see  the  hunter  casting  the  fatal  arrow  at  the  mammoth.  These 
sculptures  have  considerable  significance  from  another  point  of 


504  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

view.  They  show  us  the  human  intellect  conscious  of  itself, 
the  subject  clearly  distinguishing  itself  from  the  object,  since 
man  represents  his  own  victory  over  the  animal  and  over 
nature.  He  has  then  altogether  escaped  from  that  state  of 
unconsciousness  in  which  the  ego  is  carried  along  in  the  vortex 
of  mere  sensations.  Thus  we  find  in  these  primitive  works 
of  art,  which  are,  after  all,  only  emphatic  and  magnified  forms 
of  human  language,  the  proper  character  of  that  language. 
While  the  utterance  of  the  animal  is  always  subjective,  and 
expresses  only  sensations  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  human  speech 
is  objective,  in  this  sense,  that  it  considers  the  object  outside 
of  itself,  as  a  thing  to  be  known.  These  rude  carvings  are 
enough  to  show  us  that  pre  historic  man  spoke  as  we  speak, 
not  only  uttering  mimic  cries,  but  designating  the  objects 
themselves  by  a  real  act  of  the  reason.1  Some  have  imagined 
that  in  the  carvings  in  the  bones  of  reindeer,  they  have  dis- 
covered the  rudiments  of  a  primitive  system  of  numeration, 
referring  probably  to  the  results  of  the  chase,  and  perhaps 
to  the  division  of  the  spoil.  If  this  is  so,  we  have  here  an 
advanced  exercise  of  the  reason. 

Pre-historic  man  was  no  stranger  to  religious  feeling.  All  are 
agreed  that  a  number  of  ornamental  objects  which  are  of  no 
use  in  common  life,  must  have  served  as  amulets.  An  amulet 
is  no  doubt  a  superstitious  sort  of  thing  ;  but  it  denotes  also 
the  desire  to  appease  some  unknown,  mysterious  power,  on 
whom  man  has  always  felt  himself  to  be  dependent.  The 
signs  of  systematic  trepanning,  discovered  on  a  large  number 
of  skulls,  belonging  to  men  who  evidently  survived  the  opera- 
tion, appear  also  to  have  a  religious  significance.  Perhaps  this 
strange  practice  was  in  some  way  connected  with  the  belief 
in  evil  spirits,  which  must  be  exorcised  at  all  costs.3  After  the 

1  See  beautiful  specimens  of  this  primitive  art  in  M.  de  Nadaillac's  book, 
vol.  i. ,  ch.  xii. 

2  "  Les   Premiers  Hommes  et  les  Temps   Prehistoriques,"  Nadaillac, 
vol.  ii.,  p.  II. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  505 

death  of  the  trepanned  subject,  a  small  round  piece  of  the 
skull  was  removed  and  perforated,  so  that  a  cord  could  be 
passed  through  it,  to  hang  it  up.  Sometimes  it  was  placed  by 
the  dead  man ;  sometimes  the  survivors  carried  it  about  as  a 
charm.  In  the  former  case,  as  M.  Broca  remarks,  the  inten- 
tion was,  to  restore  to  the  dead  that  of  which  he  had  been 
before  deprived — a  clear  indication  of  a  belief  in  his  revival 
after  death. 

The  most  striking  attestation  of  religious  feeling  is  in  the 
mode  of  burial;  for  while  it  bears  witness  to  the  family  affec- 
tions, it  also  expresses  the  hope  and  belief  of  another  life. 
Burial  was  first  in  a  cave,  in  which  the  mortal  remains  were  de- 
posited with  the  favourite  weapons  of  the  deceased  and  some 
provisions.  These  arrangements  clearly  indicate  a  strong 
faith  in  the  persistence  of  life  and  the  identity  of  the  human 
personality.  At  the  end  of  the  stone  age,  the  sepulchral 
caves  were  replaced  by  tumuli,  which  sometimes  form  a  whole 
city  of  the  dead,  in  which  each  tomb  is  marked  by  a  monolith 
Later  again,  we  have  the  dolmens,  ever  increasing  in  size.  But 
whether  small  or  great,  ornate  or  plain,  the  tomb  always  tells 
the  same  story,  that  it  is  not  the  end  of  human  destinies.  The 
grave  is  like  a  door  half  opened  into  the  region  of  the  invisible 
and  divine.  It  is  like  a  low  arch,  through  which  we  can  only 
pass  bent  down  to  earth ;  but  beyond  which  we  lift  our- 
selves up  again.  Quinet  says :  "  In  this  primeval  being,  in 
whom  I  knew  not  whether  I  was  to  find  an  equal  or  the  slave  of 
all  other  creatures,  the  instinct  of  immortality  reveals  itself  in 
the  midst  of  the  tokens  of  death.  How  different  does  he  seem 
to  me  after  this  discovery  !  What  a  future  I  begin  to  discern 
in  this  strange  animal,  who  scarcely  knows  how  to  build  him- 
self a  better  shelter  than  that  of  the  beast,  and  yet  who  tries  to 
provide  eternal  hospitality  for  his  dead  !  I  seem  to  touch  the 
first  stone  on  which  rests  the  edifice  of  things  human  and 
divine.  After  this  beginning  the  rest  is  easy  to  believe."1 
1  "Lad-cation."  Quinet. 


506  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

We  shall  not  follow  the  progress  of  pre-historic  man  through 
the  Polished  Stone  era.  It  is  well  known  that  at  a  certain  date 
he  learnt  the  use  of  metals,  beginning  with  bronze.  It  ap- 
pears certain  that  the  first  stages  of  this  evolution  went  on 
more  rapidly  in  Asia  than  in  Europe,  for  everything  tends  to 
show  that  it  was  from  the  East  the  European  nations  learned 
the  art  of  shaping  metal.  The  practice  of  cremating  the  dead, 
which  coincides  with  the  introduction  of  bronze  into  European 
countries,  was  unknown  in  the  Stone  age  throughout  the  West, 
and  is  also  of  Oriental  origin.  As  soon  as  man  learned  the 
use  of  metals,  his  industry  made  rapid  strides,  ample  and  re- 
markable proofs  of  which  we  have  in  our  museums.  The  most 
important  feature  in  connexion  with  the  introduction  of  bronze 
is  the  mixture  of  races  which  it  implies.  It  was  a  great  era  in 
history  when  the  barriers  were  cast  down  between  the  differ- 
ent sections  of  pre-historic  humanity,  and  when  they  began  to 
co-operate  in  the  development  of  the  species,  even  through 
conflict  and  collision.  These  first  invasions  of  the  Oriental 
elements  preceded  the  great  Aryan  dispersion.  The  East, 
from  which  came  the  unknown  people  who  brought  bronze  in- 
to Europe,  had  itself  passed  through  the  palaeolithic  stage  ;  but 
under  a  more  genial  sky,  its  development  had  been  more  rapid. 
Certain  documents  interpreted  by  comparative  philology,  show 
the  Indo-European  race  attaining  a  very  remarkable  degree 
of  culture  at  a  period  not  yet  historic,  but  only  slightly  in  ad- 
vance of  the  historic  age,  when  the  ancestors  of  that  great  and 
noble  race  were  still  unseparated.  The  original  identity  of  the 
languages  spoken  by  the  nations  descended  from  the  primitive 
Aryans,  proves  that  all  their  numerous  branches  sprang  from  a 
common  stock.  All  words  resembling  each  other,  at  least  as 
to  their  root,  in  the  languages  of  this  group,  belong  evidently 
to  the  idiom  used  before  the  separation  and  dispersion  of  the 
Indo-Germanic  people.  These  words  express  ideas  or  customs. 
Comparative  philology  thus  brings  before  us  the  moral  and 
social  state  of  the  race  which  is  the  original  stock  of  our 
various  European  nationalities. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  507 

All  that  we  seek  at  present  from  the  stores  of  extensive  and 
exact  information  supplied  by  comparative  philology  as  to 
the  moral  and  religious  state  of  the  Aryans,  is  evidence  as  to 
their  religious  ideas,  for  in  this  it  is  obvious  we  shall  find  the 
first  development  of  the  ideas  and  beliefs  implicitly  present  in 
the  consciousness  of  primeval  man. 

We  have  already  observed,  that  even  those  who  insist  most 
strongly  on  an  outward  revelation,  must  admit  that  it  would 
have  neither  sense  nor  value  if  there  were  no  corresponding 
inward  revelation,  no  predisposition  of  the  heart  to  apprehend 
religious  truth.  On  any  other  conditions  outward  revelation 
would  be  but  a  meaningless  sound,  words  spoken  to  the  empty 
air.  Speak  of  God,  of  the  soul,  of  immortality,  to  the  most 
intelligent  of  bimanous  brutes,  what  response  will  you  meet? 
The  eye  only  sees  what  it  has  the  power  of  seeing;  the  soul 
only  grasps  truths  which  were  previously  latent  in  it,  and  after 
which  it  aspires.1 

We  do  not  dwell  upon  the  information  supplied  from  the 
same  source,  as  to  the  advanced  state  of  social  civilisation 
among  the  primitive  Aryans.  Comparative  philology  shows 
that  they  formed  a  regularly  organised  society,  under  the 
authority  of  Iraders  who  were  almost  always  kings,  and  that 
family  relations  were  established  on  a  footing  of  due  subordina- 
tion, blended  with  affection.  Their  life  was  mainly  agricultural. 
It  was  from  agriculture  they  borrowed  the  metaphorical  ex- 
pressions used  to  designate  family  and  tribal  relations.  The 
moral  idea  comes  out  very  clearly  in  this  language  of  the 
primitive  Aryans  ;  it  bears  unmistakably  stamped  upon  it  the 
effigy  of  conscience.  Law  means  that  which  is  established  as 
an  invariable  rule,  that  which  is  imperishable,  ordered,  right. 
All  these  expressions  imply  obligation.  Evil  is  a  transgression 
of  law,  hence  it  is  a  fall.  Punishment  is  not  only  the  infliction 
of  chastisement,  but  chastisement  with  a  view  to  purification. 

1  See  Pictet's  work  on  the  primitive  Aryans,  "  Les  Origines  lo.do- 
Europeennes,"  3rd  vol. 


5o8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DU7Y. 

Evil  and  sin  are  thus  represented  as  a  pollution,  a  stigma. 
The  religious  idea  always  borrows  its  symbols  from  the  celestial 
light.  Its  first  symbol,  as  its  first  personification,  is  the  heaven, 
at  once  broad  and  luminous. 

If  the  divine  idea  was  quickly  personified  in  the  heaven, 
there  was  an  even  earlier  personification  in  the  mind  of  the 
primitive  Aryans  ;  for  there  is  a  distinction  between  the  word 
devci)  which  designates  heaven,  and  the  word  deus,  which  desig- 
nates God,  or  the  heavenly  Being.  This  distinction  marks 
the  very  essence  of  the  religious  thought,  and  thus  brings  us  to 
primitive  monotheism.  Let  it  be  observed  that  the  natural 
objects  which  are  likened  to  the  gods  are  characterised  in  the 
Aryan  language  by  some  of  their  attributes.  The  earth  which 
spreads  out,  the  heaven  which  shines,  the  dawn  which  flames, 
the  fire  which  is  quick  and  agile,  these  are  metaphorical  ap- 
pellations which  refer  to  purely  natural  facts,  quite  apart  from 
any  deification  of  them.  If  from  the  first  the  Aryans  had  made 
these  objects  of  adoration,  some  trace  of  the  fact  would  have 
remained  in  the  words  which  describe  them,  which  we  find  on 
the  contrary  to  be  purely  realistic.  We  must  recognise,  then, 
that  there  was  a  time  when  polytheism  had  no  existence, 
although  even  then  the  language  was  formed — a  further  proof 
that  man  possessed  in  a  confused  way  the  idea  of  the  divine  in 
its  majesty  and  unity  before  he  incorporated  it,  as  it  were,  in 
the  grand  manifestations  of  nature.  This  primordial  monothe- 
ism is  equally  attested  by  the  other  names  given  to  the  Deity. 
Such  names  as  the  Lord  of  Creatures,  the  Supreme  Friend,  the 
Living  Spirit,  the  One  Mighty  in  will  and  in  wisdom,  the  Bene- 
volent, the  Creator,  may  be  regarded  as  so  many  epithets  ap- 
plied to  the  one  God.1 

This  idea  had  so  strong  a  hold  of  the  mind  of  man,  that  it 
reappears  in  the  next  age,  in  fully-developed  pantheistic  poly- 
theism. As  Max  Miiller  observes,  the  monotheistic  idea  is 
applied  to  each  of  the  great  divinities  in  succession,  as  they  are 
1  See  "  The  Hibbert  Lectures,  1878,"  Lecture  VI. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  $0$ 

regarded  to  be  so  many  manifestations  of  the  supreme  God. 
This  he  calls  henotheismt  or  kathenotheism.  We  find  in  the 
Vedas  a  significant  passage,  which  says  that  the  wise  give  many 
names  to  the  Being  who  is  one,  and  whom  they  call  Indra, 
Mitra,  Varuna,  Agni.  This  monotheistic  idea  is  so  persistent 
that  in  our  own  time  a  missionary,  having  accused  a  Pundit  of 
falling  into  Polytheism,  received  this  reply  :  "  These  are  all 
only  different  manifestations  of  the  one  God,  as  the  sun  is 
reflected  in  the  lake  by  a  variety  of  images/' 

We  are  justified,  then,  in  recognising  in  the  most  beautiful 
hymns  of  the  Vedas  the  survival  of  this  primitive  monotheism. 
One  Vedic  poet  says  :  "  The  great  Lord  of  these  worlds  sees  as 
if  he  were  near.  If  a  man  thinks  he  is  walking  by  stealth,  the 
gods  know  it  all.  If  a  man  stands,  or  walks,  or  rides,  if  he 
goes  to  lie  down  or  to  get  up,  what  two  people  sitting  together 
whisper,  King  Varuna  knows  it ;  he  is  there  as  a  third.  This 
earth,  too,  belongs  to  Varuna  the  King,  and  this  wide  sky  with 
its  ends  far  apart.  The  two  seas  (the  sky  and  the  ocean)  are 
Varuna's  loins ;  he  is  also  contained  in  this  small  drop  of  water. 
He  who  should  flee  far  beyond  the  sky,  even  he  would  not  be 
rid  of  Varuna  the  King.  His  spies  proceed  from  heaven  towards 
this  world — with  thousand  eyes  they  overlook  this  earth ;  King 
Varuna  sees  all  this,  what  is  between  heaven  and  earth,  and 
what  is  beyond.  He  has  counted  the  twinkling  of  our  eyes. 
As  a  player  throws  down  the  dice,  He  settles  all  things."1 

In  another  Vedic  hymn  we  read  :  "  After  Him  my  heart 
sighs,  after  the  God  who  sees  afar  off.  To  Him  my  thoughts 
turn  as  cows  to  their  pasture.  O  wise  God,  Thou  art  the  ruler 
of  all,  of  heaven  and  earth,  hear  me  in  the  skies ! " 

If  we  go  back  to  the  primitive  Aryans,  who  lived  long  before 
the  singers  of  the  Vedas,  we  shall  find  that  prayer  is  not  with 
them  a  mere  magic  art.  It  implies  veneration,  love,  service, 
praise  ;  faith  signifies  purity,  respect.2 

1  "Introduction  to  the  Science  of  Religion,"  Max  Miiller,  p.  26$- 
•  "  Les  Origines  Indo-Europeennes,"  Pictet,  p.  467. 


5io  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

It  would  be  easy  to  show  that  the  same  monotheistic  ten- 
dency existed  in  the  New  World,  among  the  old  Peruvians  and 
Mexicans,  who,  after  passing  through  the  Stone  age,  developed 
a  great  worship  of  the  sun,  corresponding  exactly  to  the  re- 
ligious development  of  the  Aryans.  It  exhibits  the  same  spon- 
taneous development  of  the  embryonic  religion  of  the  palaeo- 
lithic age.  Prescott  says  :  "  The  Peruvians  recognise  a  Su- 
preme Being,  the  Creator  and  Governor  of  the  universe,  and 
they  worship  him  under  the  name  of  Pachochanach^  that  is  to 
say,  "He  who  sustains  and  gives  life  to  the  world."1  There 
was  no  image  of  this  invisible  being.  The  temple  reared  to  him 
near  Lima  existed  before  the  rule  of  the  Incas.2  The  Aztecs, 
the  ancestors  of  the  Mexicans,  believed  in  a  supreme  God,  the 
Lord  of  the  universe.  They  offered  prayers  to  Him  as  the 
invisible,  incorporeal  God,  by  whom  we  live,  who  is  everywhere 
present,  who  knows  all  our  thoughts,  and  dispenses  all  the  gifts 
without  which  man  is  as  nothing.  The  remembrance  of  this 
old  monotheism  was  retained  in  Mexico,  as  is  proved  by  the 
pyramidal  temple  raised  by  King  Nizah  to  the  unknown  God, 
the  Cause  of  causes.  There  was  no  visible  representation  of 
Him,  and  the  offerings  brought  to  Him  were  flowers  and 
incense.  "  No  one  has  the  right  to  command  me,"  said  a  Mexi- 
can king ;  "  there  must,  then,  be  above  the  sun  a  greater  God 
who  commands  it  to  pursue  its  course  without  ever  changing."3 

The  following  exhortation,  addressed  by  a  Mexican  king  to 
his  heir,  shows  to  what  a  degree  the  moral  and  religious  ideas 
had  taken  possession  of  the  conscience  of  these  old  inhabitants 
of  South  America.  "  Receive  with  kindness  and  gentleness 
those  who  come  to  thee  in  distress.  Never  do  or  say  anything 
in  passion.  Listen  calmly  and  without  weariness  to  the  com- 
plaints and  the  prayers  which  are  brought  to  thee.  Never 
refuse  to  hear  one  who  would  speak  with  thee,  for  thou  art 

1  "  Conquest  of  Peru."     Prescott. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  i. 

8  "  Der  Fetichismus."     F.  Schultze. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  511 

the  image  of  God  to  him,  and  God's  representative.  Thou 
art  God's  servant ;  He  hears  by  thy  ears.  Punish  no  one 
without  reason,  for  it  is  God  who  has  given  thee  this  power 
which  thou  hast  to  punish,  that  thou  mayest  use  it  justly. 
Administer  justice  without  heeding  the  murmurers,  for  it  is  the 
command  of  God.  Say  not,  '  I  am  the  master,  and  I  will  make 
thee  do  what  I  will/  This  would  endanger  thy  power,  and 
deprive  thee  of  the  respect  of  men,  and  lower  thy  dignity.  Thy 
majesty  and  power  are  no  reasons  why  thou  shouldst  exalt  thy- 
self. They  ought  to  remind  thee  of  thy  humble  origin.  Yield 
not  to  effeminacy  and  self-indulgence.  Abuse  not  the  honest 
sweat  of  thy  subjects.  Abuse  not  for  unworihy  ends  the  favour 
granted  thee  by  God.  O  Lord  our  King,  Thou  lookest  on  the 
heads  of  States,  and  when  they  prevaricate  Thou  dost  confound 
them,  for  Thou  art  God,  and  doest  as  Thou  wilt !  .  .  . 
He  holds  ail  in  His  hands,  and  He  laughs  at  us  when  we 
stumble."1 

The  following  exhortations  from  a  father  to  a  son,  are  equally 
high  in  their  moral  tone  :  "  My  son,  thou  hast  come  into  the 
light  as  the  chicken  out  of  the  egg,  and,  like  it,  thou  art  prepar- 
ing to  fly  over  the  world,  without  our  knowing  how  long  heaven 
may  spare  to  us  the  treasure  we  have  in  thee.  But  what 
matter?  Strive  only  to  live  aright,  constantly  asking  God  to 
protect  thee.  He  has  created  and  He  possesses  thee.  He  is 
thy  Father,  and  loves  thee  better  than  I  do.  Fix  thy  thoughts 
upon  Him  ;  lift  thy  heart  to  Him  by  day  and  night.  Revere 
those  older  than  thyself.  Be  not  silent  to  the  poor  and  miser- 
able; cheer  them  with  soft  words.  Honour  all  men,  especially 
thy  parents,  to  whom  thou  owest  obedience.  Be  not  as  those 
bad  sons  who,  like  wild  beasts,  honour  not  those  who  gave 
them  life,  and  listen  not  to  their  counsels,  for  he  who  follows 
his  own  way  will  come  to  a  bad  end.  Jeer  not  at  the  aged  and 
infirm.  Jeer  not  at  those  who  do  wrong ;  be  humble  and  fear, 
lest  thou  fall  like  them.  If  thou  growest  rich,  be  not  uplifted 
1  "Der  Fetichismus."  F.  Schultze. 


512  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

nor  look  down  on  the  poor  and  sorrowful.  Live  by  the  fruit  of 
thy  own  labour ;  this  makes  the  bread  sweet.  Never  lie ;  lying 
is  a  great  sin.  Never  speak  evil  of  thy  neighbour.  Stay  not 
on  the  market  longer  than  is  necessary.  Control  thy  senses, 
my  son,  while  thou  art  still  young,  and  wait  till  the  virgin 
whom  the  gods  have  destined  for  thee  comes  to  the  flower  of 
her  age.  Never  steal;  so  doing  thou  wouldst  bring  dishonour 
on  thy  parents,  whilst  thou  shouldst  be  their  crown  to  recom- 
pense them  for  their  care.  I  say  no  more,  my  son.  I  have 
fulfilled  my  duty  as  a  father.  I  would  strengthen  thy  heart  by 
these  exhortations.  See  that  thou  neither  despise  nor  forget 
them  ;  thy  life  and  happiness  depend  on  them."  l 

Such  a  picture  of  humanity  carries  us  far  enough  from  the 
Troglodyte.  Yet  it  is  the  very  same  human  nature  developed 
into  moral  beauty  and  strength. 

We  pause  on  the  threshold  of  history,  at  the  very  time  when 
man  has  cast  off  the  swaddling  clothes  of  his  feeble  infancy.  It 
has  been  our  task  to  seek  him  in  his  savage  cradle  in  order  to 
find  an  answer  to  those  who  assert  that  in  his  origin  he  is 
nothing  better  than  a  beast.  Even  in  this  primeval  state,  we 
have  found  him  exhibiting  the  same  distinctive  traits,  endowed 
with  intellect  capable  of  reflexion  and  adaptation  to  his  environ- 
ment, with  power  to  overcome  the  obstacles  and  dangers  in  his 
way  caused  by  the  convulsions  of  nature,  capable  of  remem- 
bering, of  foreseeing,  of  inventing  tools  of  industry  and  weapons 
of  strife.  We  have  seen  him  rise  from  the  earth,  to  pierce,  as 
it  were,  the  veil  of  visible  things,  and  attest  his  faith  in  his 
immortal  destinies,  aspiring,  in  his  way,  after  something  greater, 
more  beautiful  than  the  material  reality  which  girds  him  in  on 
all  sides,  possessing,  finally,  the  instinct  of  and  the  aspiration 
after  the  divine. 

No  doubt  pre-historic  man,  gifted  as  he  is  with  the  freedom 
which  sometimes  lifts  man  above  himself,  sometimes  sinks  him 
to  the  level  of  the  brute,  has  often  behaved  like  a  savage 
1  "DerFetichismus."  F.  Schultze. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  513 

beast.  He  has  wallowed  in  the  blood  of  his  fellow-creatures, 
he  has  given  unbridled  licence  to  his  passions,  making  his 
intellect  pander  to  the  indulgence  of  his  baser  instincts.  It 
is  certain  that  cannibalism  prevailed  in  the  Stone  age,  probably 
towards  the  close  of  the  palaeolithic  era.1  Man  remains  no  less 
a  man,  a  true  man;  sometimes  worse  than  the  animal,  but  always 
different,  and  showing  that  he  was  made  for  a  higher  life. 

Had  he  known  this  higher  life  in  a  past  which  defies  all  in- 
vestigation, under  conditions  impossible  for  us  to  determine  ? 
Was  there,  as  some  soaring  philosophers  think,  a  beginning,  in 
which  the  unity  of  the  human  race  had  a  reality  it  has  since 
lost — a  time  when,  called,  like  every  moral  being,  to  pass  through 
an  initial  ordeal  of  liberty,  which  implies  the  possibility  of 
falling,  man  violated  the  law  of  the  world  which  is  also  the 
law  of  his  being,  setting  his  own  will  above  the  sovereign  will? 
This  great  problem  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  our 
present  inquiry.  Suffice  it  to  say,  we  know  no  more  satisfactory 
solution  of  the  origin  of  evil,  which,  unless  we  deny  our  moral 
consciousness,  we  cannot  regard  otherwise  than  as  a  viola- 
tion of  order.  This  is,  as  we  hold,  the  deep  meaning  of  the 
narrative  in  the  first  chapters  of  Genesis.  The  myth  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden  is  no  fiction.  It  gives  us  in  a  simple  poetic 
garb  the  first  page  of  the  moral  history  ot  humanity,  that 
history  whose  evidence  consists,  not  simply  in  a  few  flint  stones 
more  or  less  manipulated,  but  in  that  survival  of  a  primitive 
divine  life  in  the  human  soul,  manifested  in  all  its  aspirations 
and  regrets,  and  in  that  universal  sense  of  a  fall  which  throbs 
in  all  its  mythologies  and  is  the  great  inspiration  of  all  its 
religions. 

If  a  frngment  of  a  skull,  a  desiccated  bone,  can  tell  the  story 
of  the  physical  organism  of  pre-historic  man,  surely  the  traces 

1  The  mode  in  which  some  skulls  are  broken  makes  it  evident  that  they 
were  broken  intentionally.  One  human  skull  has  been  discovered  cleft 
like  the  crania  of  ruminants  ;  there  were  markings  on  it  evidently  made 
with  a  flint  implement.— Nadaillac,  vol.  ii.,  p.  21. 

L  L 


514  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DUTY. 

of  the  divine,  so  discernible  in  his  soul,  may  suffice  to  tell  us 
whence  he  comes.  His  origin  is  a  mystery,  but  not  a  mystery 
of  shame  and  humiliation,  but  a  mystery  of  glory  and  grandeur. 
Truly  does  the  poet  say  of  man  that — 

"  Trailing  clouds  of  glory  does  he  come 
From  heaven,  which  is  his  home. " 

The  old  Greek  etymology,  given  by  Max  Miiller,  corresponds 
perfectly  with  the  reality  of  his  being,  "  Man  is  6  dva  a0pcoi/, 
he  who  looks  upwards ;  and  certain  it  is  that  what  makes  man 
man,  is  that  he  alone  can  turn  his  face  to  heaven." l 

God  is  the  Father  of  life,  the  free  and  intelligent  Cause  of 
this  cosmos  in  which  His  perfections  are  so  clearly  seen  ;  or,  if 
it  is  not  so,  we  must  deny,  not  only  the  principle  of  causation, 
but  reason  itself,  and  admit  that  the  greater  comes  from  the 
less.  God  is  the  supreme  good,  the  moral  perfection,  whose 
impress  is  graven  on  our  inmost  being ;  or,  if  it  is  not  so, 
moral  obligation  is  swept  away,  and  with  it  conscience,  and 
we  are  reduced  to  the  paralogism  that  the  effect  is  greater  than 
the  cause,  for  the  idea  of  good  is  in  us,  and  yet  there  is  no 
real  good  anywhere.  Man  is  the  son  of  that  God  whose 
bright  image  is  reflected  in  his  thought,  his  heart,  his  reason;  or 
else  he  is  the  prey  of  the  vainest  and  most  cruel  of  illusions. 
Lastly,  he  is  conscious  that  this  image  has  become  tarnished  in 
him  ;  but  he  aspires  to  the  restoration  of  his  true  nature.  The 
very  warmth  of  this  aspiration  suffices  to  justify  his  hope;  for 
the  Infinite  Being  must  be  cruel  indeed,  if  He  could  enkindle 
such  a  hope  only  to  quench  it  The  painful  effort,  ever  and 
again  renewed  by  humanity,  to  find  out  God,  must  needs  be  at 
length  successful  according  to  that  sublime  utterance  which 
Pascal  puts  into  the  mouth  of  God :  "2~hou  ivouldst  not  seek  Me 
if  thou  hadst  not  found  Me." 

The  sacred  sorrow,  which  consumes  humanity,  is  the  seal  of 
a  divine  promise  in  the  heart  of  man.     History  is  not  a  cruel 

1  "  Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Religion,"  p.  18. 


THE  SAVAGE  AND  PRIMEVAL  MAN.  515 

jest,  joyless  and  hopeless  ;  it  is  the  upward  striving  of  a  race 
tending  to  its  full  restoration.  This  is  the  faith  which  science 
permits,  which  conscience  commands,  which  the  heart  craves ; 
and  the  substance  of  this  faith  man  grasps  already  by  a  sub- 
lime anticipation,  founded  on  something  higher  and  surer  than 
any  warrant  of  outward  authority. 


"BEYOND   CRITICISM." 

HOURS  WITH~~THE    BIBLE; 

OR, 

THE*SCRIPTURES  IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  MODERN  DIS- 
COVERY AND  KNOWLEDGE. 

BIT  THE  REV.  CUNNINGHAM  GEIKIE,  D.D.,  AUTHOR  OP 
"THE  LIFE  AND  WORDS  OF  CHRIST,"  ETC. 


"  My  aim  in  this  new  undertaking,  which  involves  almost 
more  labor  than  my  'Life  and  Words  of  Christ,'  has  been  and 
will  be  to  bring  all  that  I  can  gather  from  every  available  source 
to  bear  on  the  illustrations  of  the  Scriptures.  Not  a  dry  series 
of  papers,  but  a  pleasant,  attractive  illumination  of  its  pages 
by  the  varied  lights  of  modern  research  and  discovery." — 
From  the  Preface. 

Vol.      I.  FROM  CREATION  TO  THE  PATRIARCHS. 
"      II.  FROM  MOSES  TO  THE  JUDGES. 
"    III.  FROM  SAMSON  TO  SOLOMON. 
"    IV.  FROM  REHOBOAM  TO  HEZEKIAH. 
"      V.  FROM  MANASSEH  TO  ZEDEKIAH. 
"    VI.  COMPLETING  OLD  TESTAMENT.    {Nearly  ready.) 


12mo,  Cloth,  with  illustrations.     $1.3O  each. 

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REVIEWS. 

"The  harvest  is  here  gathered  for  the  reaper  ...  its  sheaves  golden  clusters."— 
Pulpit  Treasury. 

"  We  are  sure  that  those  who  read  this  work  will  take  the  Bible  to  their  hearts  as  never 
before."— Pittsburgh  Methodist  Reporter. 

"  The  labor  and  painstaking  simply  amazing." — Good  Literature. 

"We  know  of  nothing  in  Biblical  literature  that  has  charmed  us  more  than  'Hours 
with  the  Bible.'  " — Canada  Christian  Advocate. 

"Deserves  a  place  in  every  Christian  home." — N.  Y.  Independent. 

"Students,  teachers  and  preachers  will  here  find  treasures  of  priceless  wealth."— 
Christian  Age. 

"  Modern  discovery  and  science  are  made  to  pour  their  contributions  of  light,  as  in 
one  blazing  avalanche,  upon  the  sacred  shrine  of  Scripture  Truth." — The  Preacher. 

•'To  the  student  of  the  Bible  these  volumes  are  indispensable." — Irish  Ecclesiastical 
Gazette. 

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JAMES   POTT  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


A    GREAT    WORK. 


Hatnral  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World. 

By  HENRY  DRUMMOND,  F.R.S.E.,  F.G.S. 

Cheaper  Edition,  438  Pages.     Price,  $1.50. 


CONTENTS : 

PREFACE,  MORTIFICATION, 

INTRODUCTION,  ETERNAL  LIFE, 

BIOGENESIS,  ENVIRONMENT, 

DEGENERATION,  CONFORMITY  TO  TYPE, 

GROWTH,  SEMI-PARASITISM, 

DEATH,  PARASITISM, 
CLASSIFICATION. 


"  I  report,  as  a  man  may  of  God's  work. — All 's  Love, 
yet  all's  Law." 

"  No  man  who  knows  the  splendor  of  scientific  achieve- 
ment or  cares  for  it,  no  man  who  feels  the  solidity  of  its  method 
or  works  with  it,  can  remain  neutral  with  regard  to  religion. 
He  must  extend  his  method  into  it  or,  if  that  is  impossible, 
oppose  it  to  the  knife." — Preface. 


FROM    THE    PRESS. 

"  We  will  begin  our  notice  of  this  most  remarkable  book  by  saying  that  every  one  who 
is  interested  in  religious  questions  should  read  and  study  it." — London  Church  Quarterly 
Review. 

"Its  originality  will  make  it  almost  a  revelation.1' — Christian  Union,  January  10. 

"This  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  and  suggestive  books  on  religion  that  we  have 
read  for  a  long  time." — London  Spectator. 

"If  you  read  only  one  book  this  year  let  it  be  'Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World.'" 
American  Institute  of  Christian  Philosophy. 

"This  is  one  of  those  rare  books  which,  treating  upon  familiar  subjects,  find  a  new 
point  of  view  from  which  old  things  themselves  become  new." — Chicago  Standard. 

''  Grand  reading  for  the  clergy."— Bishop  Coxe,  Buffalo. 

"A  great  work." — Bishop  Doane,  Albany. 

"In  Drummond's book  we  have  none  of  the  nonsense  of  the  new  theology,  but  the  old 
theology  splendidly  illuminated  by  the  'Drummond  light'  of  the  newest  scientific  knowl- 
edge."— Dr.  Henson,  Chicago. 

"  Fresh,  clear  and  suggestive.  Just  the  book  for  every  minister  and  intelligent  Chris- 
tian." — Dr.  Haigh,  Chicago. 

JAMES  POTT  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


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